The Tide:

Dead Ashore

(The Tide Series Volume 6)

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Anthony J Melchiorri

October, 2017

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Books by Anthony J Melchiorri

-Prologue-

-1-

-2-

-3-

-4-

-5-

-6-

-7-

-8-

-9-

-10-

-11-

-12-

-13-

-14-

-15-

-16-

-17-

-18-

-19-

-20-

-21-

-22-

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-24-

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-32-

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-34-

-35-

-36-

-37-

-38-

-39-

-40-

-41-

-42-

-43-

-Epilogue-

Also by Anthony J Melchiorri

About the Author

Books by Anthony J Melchiorri

The Tide Series

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The Tide (Book 1)

Breakwater (Book 2)

Salvage (Book 3)

Deadrise (Book 4)

Iron Wind (Book 5)

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The Eternal Frontier

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Eternal Frontier (Book 1)

Edge of War (Book 2)

Shattered Dawn (Book 3)

Rebel World (Book 4)

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Black Market DNA

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Enhancement (Book 1)

Malignant (Book 2)

Variant (Book 3)

Fatal Injection

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Other Books

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The God Organ

The Human Forged

Darkness Evolved

The Tide: Dead Ashore

Copyright © 2017 by Anthony J. Melchiorri. All rights reserved.

First Edition: October 2017

http://AnthonyJMelchiorri.com

Cover Design: Eloise Knapp Design

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

-Prologue-

Tangier, Morocco

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Sunlight glinted off a glass shard jutting from the orange dirt. Hamid El Omari followed a trail of similar shards, each sparkling in the midday sun. The fragments glowed in an array of colors, from oceanic blues to fiery reds and lush greens. He knew all too well where that glass had come from. The metal frame of a lantern, half-rusted and crumpled as though someone had stepped on it, lay against a flaking plastered wall.

“Come, Adil,” he whispered to his younger brother.

Adil was trying to pick up the lantern. “It’s like Father’s.”

“Adil!” Hamid said again, more forcefully. He yanked his brother’s arm. Adil pulled back. He succeeded only in cutting a finger on the broken lantern.

“Ow!” Adil stuck his finger in his mouth.

“Quiet,” Hamid admonished. “They’ll hear you.”

At this, Adil went quiet and pale. Hamid led Adil through the medina. Where once the narrow, winding passages had been filled with people browsing fruit stands and teahouses and shops full of gleaming trinkets, now they were alone.

At least, it looked as if they were alone.

If Hamid lingered too long in any corner of the brick-lined streets, he felt the burn of eyes on him like the unforgiving heat of the sun. He wasn’t sure if the sensation was imagined or real. Most days, he and Adil crept through the abandoned city without seeing anyone. Many people had left the city at the first sign of the collapse. Those that remained had bunkered down in their riads or apartments. His parents had been among those too stubborn to leave.

“We cannot leave the shop untended,” his father had said. “Thieves will take everything we own, and then what will we be left with?”

We would be left with our lives. Yours. Mother’s. Hamid felt guilty thinking it. But his guilt didn’t make the leaden thoughts any less true.

Heavy footsteps sounded down an alley.

Hamid froze. He willed his heart to still and prayed that the creature those footsteps belonged to wouldn’t hear his pounding pulse.

They weren’t far from his father’s shop, and Hamid dashed inside with Adil. More lanterns hung inside, empty and covered in dust. Shadows muted their colors. Before, when the tourists would visit his father’s store, Hamid had been responsible for ensuring a candle was lit in every single one of the lanterns. A thousand little suns glowing like the souls of rainbows. His father had told him to be proud of the shop, since it would be Hamid’s someday, but he’d taken its beauty for granted. Now all lay in ruins, and there were no more lights anywhere in Tangier.

It was here he had watched his father struggle with one of the monsters. Watched as his father was torn apart. His mother had tried to stop the beast. She had been scratched but escaped with Hamid and Adil to their apartment above the store. All that night, they listened to the monster devour their father’s flesh and gnaw on his bones.

But more terrifying had been his mother’s descent into madness. He had watched helplessly as the Jnun took over her body.

All his life, he had heard the ghost stories meant to scare naughty little boys. Never had he thought they were true. According to those stories, the Jnun were invisible spirits capable of possessing humans. They transformed their victims mentally and physically, expelling the soul that had once been in control of the body.

Once their mother had grown scaly nails and yellowed eyes, Hamid had known his mother’s soul was gone. And it was only with that knowledge that he had been able to drive the knife through her chest, over and over, until she stopped trying to maul Adil.

He had wept that night. Cried himself to sleep like a child. But when he had woken up the next morning, blood still on his hands, he had vowed he would never cry again. His parents were dead, but Adil would be too if he did not step up and become the man of the household.

His mother’s last coherent words had been about the afterlife. She had been muttering about escaping Earth, about how their father had already escaped. They were in paradise now. Hamid believed he and Adil would end up there, too. He wanted more than anything to see them again.

Despite that desire, he wouldn’t let himself succumb to death. Despite the hell around them, life was still worth living. When he looked at his younger brother, he amended that thought.

Life wasn’t just worth living. It was worth saving.

“Be very still,” Hamid said. He crouched behind a massive lantern beside Adil. Through the glass, he saw it. Even distorted by the colors of the lantern’s panels, he could make out the horns hooking from the creature’s head. Drool roped from the overgrown teeth lining its maw, and long, flat bones protruded from its back.

Adil whimpered. An icy chill raced through Hamid’s vessels, and he clamped his hand over Adil’s mouth.

“Quiet, little brother,” Hamid said. “We will be okay.”

The monster paused. Its muscles quivered. All sinew and bone, the thing was a walking weapon. Hamid wrapped his fingers around the large knife in a sheath slung about his waist. It felt horribly inadequate compared to the creature’s scything claws.

Seconds stretched to eternity as he waited for the battle to begin. He was ready to sacrifice himself for his brother if it came to that.

The clatter of metal against metal sounded down another alley. The monster let out a gut-wrenching howl and chased after the noise. Hamid figured it must’ve been one of the feral cats or stray dogs still scavenging the ravaged city. There were no humans living here anymore, not that Hamid had seen. He felt a pang of pity for the poor creature even as he mouthed a silent prayer for its sacrifice.

Maybe this was Allah looking out for him. Maybe it was blind luck. Either way, he wouldn’t let the moment go to waste.

“Come!” Hamid said to his brother. They sprinted out the storefront and down a different alley. A skeleton picked clean of meat sat before a shop filled with rugs. Another stand had once sold loose spices, but the wind had mixed the turmeric, cumin, and cinnamon with dirt from the deserted streets. Hamid remembered the scent of shops like those. The welcoming aroma of home cooking mingled with the heavy tang of hot oil in the air. Wafts of simmering tajine would hit his nose, and the taste of fresh vegetables and meat would dance on his tongue. His stomach rumbled at the memories.

Now only the smell of death drifted on the winds through Tangier.

“There!” Hamid pointed to another storefront. He knew the man who once ran it. The owner had always bragged of having the freshest fruits in all the medina. Now what lay in his storefront was nothing but piles of brown-and-black sludge swarming with flies.

Hamid ignored the overwhelming stench of the place, focusing on the promise of something edible. Something to fill his stomach besides fetid water. He shoveled through the sludge, looking for something that he could salvage.

His hands came away covered in goo. Nothing. A voice in his mind told him to try the rotted fruit. It couldn’t be so bad. The flies lived off it, so maybe he could, too. He was about to stick a finger in his mouth, to try it, the pangs of hunger so loud as to overcome caution and logic.

“Hamid!” Adil called. He held up a plastic bag. “Food!”

Hamid rushed to his brother’s side. Beside the boy was a carton filled with vacuum-sealed plastic bags. Dried fruit! He grabbed a handful of prunes from the bag Adil had opened and shoved it in his mouth. The sweetness momentarily washed away the nightmares outside the open-air shop. A crunch of something hard over glass brought him back to reality just as quickly.

“Let’s go inside,” Hamid said. The apartment above them had already been broken into, so opening the door was easy. Together, they crept through the mess of soiled carpets. The odor of rotting meat wafted from one of the rooms. Hamid tried to ignore it and left that door closed, but the stench stole his appetite.

“Outside?” Hamid asked after a moment.

Adil nodded. His face was turning slightly green.

Following a staircase, they emerged onto the dusty, plaster-covered roof with its encircling wall. Together they nestled into a corner and munched dried fruit. The food they’d found would give them the strength to find another apartment, riad, or storefront with a stash of dry goods.

When his belly was full, Hamid leaned against the wall under the shadow of a satellite TV dish. Towering minarets stuck up around the city. It had taken him weeks to become accustomed to the silence during adhan. He’d grown up hearing the calls of the muezzin from the city’s many mosques. Their voices praised Allah in beautiful prayers, signaling other faithful to join in the worship. When the calls stopped, the city became a silent shadow of its former self.

Sometimes he wondered if he would ever hear the call to prayer again. But he knew better by now. The only sounds he heard were the shuffling and moaning of the Jnun wandering the streets and the squawk of gulls overhead. One gull circled above him now.

“Do you think it wants to feed on us or the fruit?” Adil asked, squinting at it.

“Don’t be silly,” Hamid replied. But it was a good question. He just didn’t want his little brother to know.

The thrum of another sound burst over the city. Toward the ocean, a helicopter hovered above the tangle of cranes. Hamid had once thought the helicopters were a sign of hope. Sometimes they were even followed by convoys of trucks. Before the city collapsed, every TV showed the same video of the king and the prime minister promising that the people would be saved. Hamid had thought the helicopters and activity at the port meant there were rescue operations underway. But no matter how many times he and his brother tried to flag down a helicopter or intercept a truck, they were left disappointed. They had given up trying, and neither he nor his brother did anything more than lazily watch the helicopter as it dipped below the sprawl of buildings.

“Why don’t those people ever help us?” Adil asked.

“I don’t know,” Hamid said.

“They are not from Morocco, are they? If they were, they would have saved us. I am sure of it!”

Hamid said nothing. The writing on the side of the choppers was most certainly not Arabic. He spoke and read English pretty well and knew a bit more French. Had to, working with tourists. But the words on the choppers and even the huge boats he saw arrive and leave the port were not any language he could read.

“Why don’t we go see them?” Adil said. His fingers were curled around the lip of the roof. With wide eyes, he peered toward the port.

Hamid pulled him back from the edge. “Don’t let the Jnun see you!”

Adil shot him a pouting look. “I’m not a baby, Hamid. We can’t stay here forever. We should leave.”

“It is too dangerous,” Hamid said. “We’ve tried. But the monsters are all around the port. We couldn’t get in without getting eaten.”

“We should try again. Back through the tunnels.”

“We tried for weeks! We looked everywhere. But there are too many Jnun.” Hamid held his hands wide in a gesture of disbelief. He had had this conversation far too many times with his brother. “I had to kill so many of those creatures last time, and we barely escaped. Do you want us to end up like Father? Like Mother?”

Adil’s bottom lip trembled. He looked as if he was trying to hold back the tears. Hamid knew he had gone too far.

“I’m sorry,” Hamid said.

Adil turned his back to him. His shoulders shook as if he was sobbing.

“Little brother, I’m sorry.”

Adil shot up and ran back down the stairs into the apartment. Maybe it was better to give him time. Hamid sighed. Adil was only a boy; he couldn’t leave his brother alone. Not now. Not ever. Not so long as the Jnun wandered the Earth. He trudged down the stairs.

“Adil,” he called tentatively. “Adil, I’m—”

His breath caught in his throat. The pungent odor of rot and death slammed into him, stronger than when he had first entered the apartment.

Adil was whimpering. But it was no longer because of something so trite as hurt feelings. He crab-crawled backward over an end table that he must have knocked over. The door that had been locked earlier now lay open, revealing what had been behind it.

“M-M-Monster,” Adil stuttered.

The thing came at the boy, snarling and biting. Half of its bottom jaw was gone, and some kind of brown liquid oozed from the cavity. A bend in one of its legs existed where no normal joint should be. One of the creature’s bone-plated arms hung loose at its side, barely attached by a few red sinews. The other arm had been shorn off. Overgrown ribs bulwarked the creature’s chest as if its body had turned inside out and its bones had kept blooming. The Jnun were usually skinny, but this one was especially thin. Its nose had turned into nothing but a pair of holes dripping mucus.

The monster limped closer.

“Adil!” Hamid said. His fingers slipped instinctively around his knife.

Adil turned toward him. So did the creature. The monster growled. The noise came out with a belching gurgle. It sounded as if something were boiling in the monster’s belly. He had thought that the creature was relatively harmless, but now he was not so sure. It was unlike the ones he usually saw prowling the streets. The bubbling and gargling intensified as if it were clearing its throat.

A pit formed in Hamid’s stomach. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

“Adil! Move now!”

Hearing his name again jolted the boy out of his stupor. He started to run toward Hamid. Then the monster opened its jaws. A ripping belch escaped it. Brown liquid exploded from its mouth, spraying the room. Wherever the liquid touched, tendrils of smoke floated up, as if the spray were releasing spirits trapped within the room.

Adil wasn’t moving fast enough. Heart thrashing in his ribcage, Hamid sprang toward his brother and grabbed his arm. The monster pivoted. Everything seemed to slow as they tried to outrun the spray. He dragged his brother backward. The stream of acid continued to drench the wooden furniture and handmade rugs, burning all that it touched.

Hamid wanted to take them down the stairs, retreat to the safety of the shop. But the thing was standing right in front of the steps. There was only one way to escape—back to the roof.

“Let’s go!” Hamid yelled. He started up the stairs, still dragging his brother.

The shriveled, drooling monster tried to follow. It tripped and sprawled on the bottom step, its mangled arm flopping by its side. But that didn’t stop the acid spewing from its devastated mouth.

Adil shrieked as liquid splashed against his back and arm.

A few droplets landed on Hamid, but his brother had blocked most of the spray. Those drops that did hit him felt as if someone had jabbed a hot knife into his flesh. He nearly fell to his knees from the pain. His brother had already curled up, screaming and flailing.

The monster started to pick itself up. Its stomach gurgled anew as if charging another blast. Then the remnants of its jaw opened.

A fresh surge of chilling adrenaline bolted through Hamid. It drowned the pain burning through his nerves. He scooped up his brother with newfound strength and ran.

The sounds of acid splashing against the stairs sounded behind him. He never looked back, even as the warm liquid splattered against his legs. He burst through the door at the top of the stairs.

More gulls squawked overhead. A few swooped low, their eyes looking hungrily at him. Hamid’s eyes searched the roof. His vision became tunneled as he looked for an escape. Each building butted up against the next. It wouldn’t be hard to leap and run from roof to roof. The drooling thing couldn’t follow them, could it? Surely it would get stuck.

But it wasn’t the drooling one he was worried about anymore. Adil’s continued wailing was a siren call to all the other Jnun milling about the streets, sure to beckon them from kilometers away. No amount of soothing or pleading would quiet him. Hamid frantically looked over the edge of the roof.

Where to go? Where to go?

The sound of helicopter blades thumping the air pierced the din of the Jnun.

Then a pair of growls echoed over the roof. He spun on his heel, and Adil went limp in his arms. Passed out from pain or from what he saw, Hamid couldn’t be sure. He did know that the two Jnun climbing onto the rooftop were much faster than the drooling one.

Adil’s body blocked the knife on Hamid’s hip. He briefly thought about dropping his brother and fighting the creatures, but he was outnumbered, and Adil would be defenseless. He would almost certainly die.

No, I must run.

The helicopter blades called to him again. He knew what he had to do.

Over the roofs he sprinted, jumping and hurdling, never looking back. He was heading toward the port, knowing full well he was going to run into more of the Jnun. But what did it matter now?

He didn’t dare look behind him. All he would see were more and more of the creatures. He spotted their bloodshot eyes peering over the rooftops, their claws digging into the plaster and wood. They charged, angry and hungry and rampaging. Never stopping. Nothing but death would stop them.

Built-up lactic acid burned in his muscles. Everything hurt, and his vision started to turn red. His arms were shaking under Adil’s weight.

Brother, I will not let you die.

He could practically feel the hot breath of the Jnun on the back of his neck. Their wails and growls hit his eardrums in a relentless cacophony.

Must keep going.

Then he reached the end of the last roof. There was nowhere else to run. Below, a street led toward a warehouse. The monsters seemed to be avoiding the place and its high barbed-wire fences.

“Please, help us!” Hamid cried, hoping someone, anyone was listening.

A pair of helicopters churned the air just beyond the warehouse, landing or taking off, he didn’t know.

Hamid looked behind him. The monsters were too close. He couldn’t stay on the roof. He had to get behind that fence.

With a prayer, he jumped off the roof. The fall seemed to stretch for an eternity. Then he slammed into a canvas awning. It barely withstood his weight, rotted by weather and neglect. It tore then spilled him into a pile of moldy rugs and carpets. He scrambled to regain his footing and stumbled forward with Adil still unconscious in his arms.

“Please, save us!” Hamid said. “In the name of Allah, save us!”

He held up Adil like an offering to the massive gate. The first of the Jnun dropped to the ground behind him. It searched the road as if it wasn’t sure whether to cross. But the sight of fresh meat was too tempting. It crept toward Hamid. He had never seen a Jnun hesitate like this, but he did not have time to wonder about it now.

He called out again. “Please!”

A window slid open at the top of the warehouse. A man in some kind of strange, almost demonic armor leaned out with a gun in hand. He very nearly looked like a Jnun himself. With a single shot, he dropped the creature creeping up behind Hamid.

More gunshots lanced into the ranks of the Jnun. Their bodies fell.

Hamid whispered his thanks. The pain returned as exhaustion crept up on him and the adrenaline faded. The burns from the drooling thing ignited in fresh agony. If he didn’t get help soon, he would collapse in the street.

“Please let us in!” Hamid called to the armored gunman.

The gunman continued firing, blasting the Jnun. Hamid studied his face and saw that the man wasn’t from Morocco. It wasn’t just his armor that was out of place; it was the sandy-blond hair and pale skin, too.

The gunfire quieted, and the man yelled something in a language Hamid didn’t understand. His words came out in trenchant bites and gasps, something so foreign to Hamid he couldn’t begin to guess what the sounds meant. But then the man made a motion that made his intent clear enough. A simple wave of dismissal.

“Please,” Hamid moaned.

The man waved him off again and then slammed the door shut.

Then down the Jnun came, plunging from the rooftops toward the dirt-covered road.

Hamid curled around his brother, shielding Adil. There was nowhere else to run and no one else to turn to. Closing his eyes, he whispered a prayer. They would be in paradise soon. Reunited with their father and mother. Away from all of this. Free from the pain.

A tear escaped his closed eyelids. “Goodbye, Adil.”

More gunfire exploded all around him. The Jnun dropped in pluming red clouds of mist. Splinters of broken bone sprayed. The monsters collapsed in heaps. Some still writhed, injured but not defeated. A host of men and women, shemagh scarves wrapped around their faces, formed a circle with rifles pointed at the beasts.

One of the men stretched a hand toward Hamid. “Come with us, boy.”

Another grabbed Adil.

Hamid didn’t think twice. He staggered to his feet and followed the group away from the onslaught of more mobbing Jnun into a shadowy alleyway. Onward they ran, winding through the medina, passing many empty storefronts and bodies, Jnun and human alike, until they reached an iron door. Someone opened it, and the armed strangers spilled in. Soon claws and teeth were scraping uselessly against the outside of the door. The sound was jarring, but Hamid breathed a sigh of relief. The tears he had held for so long flowed out as the men and women unwrapped their scarves and threw their rifles over their backs.

“You’re safe,” a woman said as she began to attend to Hamid’s wounds. “You’re safe.”

He heard the words, but he didn’t believe them. The monsters were still howling outside the door.

Maybe he and Adil were safe for now. But how long could it last?

-1-

The Huntress

300 Nautical Miles off the coast of Mauritania

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Dominic Holland took a sip of coffee. The burned aftertaste reminded him of the student-run coffeehouse he used to haunt while studying for his international relations degree and Foreign Service exams.

Simpler times, he thought. No Skulls. No Oni Agent.

Long before he had joined the CIA and then run off to start his independent covert ops groups, Dom had imagined he would find a place in the United States Foreign Service. But a thirst for doing something more than sitting behind a desk, talking about diplomacy and pushing papers, spurred him to apply to the Agency. After a year’s worth of background checks and interviews, he found his spot as an analyst, working beside a cute redhead.

He caught Meredith Webb’s green-eyed gaze.

“You ever miss the office?” he asked.

She laughed then brushed a hand through her hair. Or what remained of her hair. Half her head had been shaved during the emergency surgery she had endured after they had retaken the Huntress. The hair was growing back, but although Dom’s medical team was talented, there was still a nasty scar left where her ear had been.

“I don’t think they’d let me in the office with this rock-star ’do. Too unconventional for them.”

“You’re going to keep it?”

Meredith gave him a mischievous smirk. “Why? You think it’s sexy?”

“Gorgeous,” Dom said. “You’re just missing the leather pants.”

“Oh, do you think those are mission appropriate?”

Dom shrugged. “We’re independent contractors. We set our own dress codes.” He leaned toward her, circling one finger around the rim of the coffee cup. “But the real question is whether it’s actually appropriate to wear leather pants in any context. I think that’s another discussion entirely.”

Miguel Ruiz thudded into a seat beside them with a tray of food. “Leather pants are never cool. They trap all that sweat in there. The chafing. Not to mention the smell.” He shuddered and waved his hand in front of his nose. “Worse than a Goliath’s breath.”

Footsteps followed as another person joined them. “Are you talking about your junk again, Miguel?” said Andris Jansons.

“Now where in the hell did you get an idea like that?” Miguel asked.

Andris shot him a look. “You talked about chafing, sweat, and a terrible odor. These are all things you frequently complain about in the locker room. It sounds like you may want to speak to one of the doctors about these issues.”

“Hey, man, my junk is my concern. Not yours.”

“Good. Then let us agree not to talk about it while I eat.” Andris spooned a mound of formerly freeze-dried noodles into his mouth. “It is something that—how do you say?—interrupts the appetite.”

“Close enough,” Dom said.

“When we get that Spitkovsky dude, you going to interrogate him?” Miguel asked Andris. “You know, being a Soviet and all, I figured you’d want a crack at him.”

Pyotr Spitkovsky reminded Dom of a stereotypical villain straight out of a Cold War-era flick. The geeks in the electronics workshop had recently translated intel from the facility in the Congo they’d raided. Apparently, Spitkovsky called his group the Forces of Global Liberation. Spitkovsky and the FGL had some bad blood with the Russian government. It probably had something to do with Putin sending him to a Siberian prison. Other than that, they knew almost nothing about him.

Worse yet, Spitkovsky had known who Dom and the Hunters were before they’d ever met.

“I am not Russian,” Andris said, his eyes narrowing. “I am Latvian.”

“Pretty much the same thing.”

Andris stopped chewing his noodles. “You are joking, yes? You are trying to get on my nerves.”

“Damn right, he is,” Meredith said. “If I’ve learned anything on the Huntress, it’s that Miguel does nothing so well as being a jackass.”

“Amen, sister,” Miguel said, holding up his prosthetic hand for a high five.

“You don’t deserve a high five,” Andris said. Dom couldn’t tell if Andris was serious or just giving Miguel as much smartass flack as he was receiving. Even after years of serving beside the former French Foreign Legionnaire, Dom found it difficult to parse the man’s bone-dry European humor. “You are a sad man, Miguel.”

“If I’m sad, it’s only because I miss bashing Skulls’ brains in with you, brother.”

At this Andris smiled. “It is true. That is what you would call a premium bonding experience.”

“I’d rather bond over a glass of wine, but I guess everyone has their quirks,” Meredith said.

“You have to admit, the Skulls have brought us closer.” Dom gave her a shit-eating grin.

“You know what else would’ve worked?” she asked. “A few shots of tequila and a goddamned beach on the Gulf of Mexico. But yeah, sure, Skulls are great too.”

“Chief, I like this girl,” Miguel said, clapping Meredith’s shoulder. “You picked a good one.”

“She reminds me of that every day,” Dom said. “And I’m not trying to be cheesy. Literally, she tells me every day.”

And he did count himself fortunate for each of those days she was with him. For everything they had gone through and survived. Hell, he owed her his life. She had helped save his daughters, Kara and Sadie, and even Maggie, the golden retriever, when Skulls had overtaken Maryland. She had risked everything—her life and career—to stop the spread of the Oni Agent and find the parties responsible for developing and spreading the devastating biological weapon.

Dom finished the last of his coffee and started to stand. Pain lanced through his leg.

“You good there, Gramps?” Miguel asked.

Dom waved him off and straightened. Dr. Lauren Winters, his chief medical officer and scientist, had warned him this would be a painful injury. “Remind me to shoot Spitkovsky a couple times when we see him next. See how he likes it.”

Miguel’s face scrunched in concern for a moment before morphing into his normal, self-assured cocky expression. “You got it, Chief.” He mimed shooting gestures with both hands as if he were a cowboy from a spaghetti Western. “Ol’ Spitkovsky’s gonna regret the day he crossed us.”

Dom left the mess with Meredith by his side. The pain of his injury was only eclipsed by the agony of reliving the moment Spitkovsky had escaped. He longed for answers. Why and how was the Oni Agent released? What was Spitkovsky’s motive? And were there others above him, a shadow group pulling the strings of the apocalypse?

The FGL base hidden deep in the Congo had been manufacturing nightmares. The Titans they had created were grotesque perversions of science, blending Frankenstein-like horror with the military industrial complex. Dom wouldn’t be surprised if there were other macabre secrets to be uncovered in the FGL labs, but their mission had been cut short.

His fingers clenched into a fist, quivering slightly. If only they had Spitkovsky.

“Leg still hurting?” Meredith asked, misinterpreting his gesture.

“No,” Dom said. “More like my brain’s hurting.”

“Headache?”

“Regrets.”

Meredith nodded. She didn’t ask any other questions as she led them up the ladders to the open deck. He had told her over many a sleepless night about what he could’ve done differently, how he could’ve executed the mission better to ensure they captured Spitkovsky. She had patiently listened and offered reassurances that they had done what they could. There was nothing more to be said, and all the regrets in the world wouldn’t change the fact that the Russian had escaped.

Sun glinted off the blue Atlantic waves. Hardly a cloud passed in the sky. If Dom forgot about everything inside his ship, if he forgot about what lay waiting for them on the land, he could almost pretend this was a beautiful day to sail the ocean.

He walked beside Meredith, hand in hand with her. Each step he took ached. But each day, he hurt a little less.

Soon they would be at Lajes Airport to meet the Portuguese Air Force colonel that the Huntress’s pilot, Frank Battaglia, had befriended. Dom wondered where his physical rehabilitation would be by then. Lauren had warned him it would be slow. But he damned well couldn’t sit on the ship while his Hunters ventured into cities ruled by flesh-hungry Skulls.

He let out a sigh. “I guess I should be thankful I’m still alive.” He felt guilty at once, remembering Renee Boland. She had made the ultimate sacrifice in the jungles, and the emotional wound was rawer than the gunshot in his leg. “And by God, we didn’t come away from the Congo empty handed, either.”

“Far from it,” Meredith agreed.

In addition to the intel they’d retrieved from the FGL computer network, the Hunters had rescued a hostage. Shigeru Matsumoto had originally created the Oni Agent, and he might hold the key to stopping its spread. But he was also a feeble old man who had been alternating between unconsciousness and bouts of delirium for days.

“When that bastard can talk,” Dom said, “we’ll have a long-overdue conversation.”

***

A soft beeping echoed from the biomonitors in the medical bay. The bay was finally, and thankfully, empty of most of its patients. The civilians from Boston—the Weaver family and Alex Li—had recovered fully from their Oni Agent infections. And there were no injured Hunters that needed to be monitored with more than a daily check-in. The sole patron of Lauren’s services was a man who was causing her to question her obligation to the Hippocratic oath: Shigeru Matsumoto.

The wizened man was thin as a pipette and more wrinkled than a first-year lab student’s attempt at a histological sample. His lungs rose and fell in a slow rhythm that left Lauren constantly wondering whether each breath would be his last. This was the old man whose so-called invention had resulted in countless long days and nights in the Huntress’s labs. The man whose scientific work had caused so many of her friends and colleagues to lose their lives—some right in front of Lauren in this very bay.

“Some days, I wish that pruny old bastard had become a Skull himself,” Sean McConnelly, the resident epidemiologist, said.

“Practically looks like a Skull,” Peter Mikos said. The ship’s surgeon glared at their one and only patient.

“True that,” Sean said. “He’s got a face like a blind cobbler’s thumb.”

“Usually I would say not to judge a person based on looks,” Divya Karnik chimed in. “I think it is a fair assessment in this case. In fact, his soul must be far uglier. If reincarnation is as real as my mother insisted, I imagine this man would come back as a tapeworm.”

Sean cringed. “I’m not sure a life living in someone else’s shit factory is bad enough for this guy.”

“Whatever he deserves,” Lauren said, “it certainly isn’t the Phoenix Compound.”

“Shame we had to use a dose on him,” Sean said.

“I’d rather cure him than let him turn Skull,” Divya said. “At least if we keep him alive, maybe we can get some answers.”

“Answers would be good,” Lauren said.

Everyone aboard the ship had been exposed to a particularly resistant strain of Oni Agent nanobacteria that didn’t respond to their old chelation treatment. The last-minute development of the Phoenix Compound had saved them. The compound was the only thing preventing the entire crew—and Matsumoto—from turning into Skulls. Lauren shuddered, wondering what would’ve happened if they hadn’t had the help of her medical team’s newest member, Navid Ghasemi, who specialized in the delivery of pharmaceuticals to neural tissue.

The young scientist they’d rescued from Boston was currently in the lab, surveying an intricate system of glassware in preparation for a new batch of Phoenix Compound. It seemed as if the lab had turned from research facility into a miniature factory for the albumin-coated pharmaceutical compounds that coalesced around the nanobacteria responsible for turning people into Skulls. The Phoenix Compound enabled the body’s immune system to do what it couldn’t otherwise—identify and eliminate the nanobacteria in the bloodstream, even past the near impermeable blood-brain barrier.

“I just hope the researchers at Fort Detrick and the NIH are willing to listen to us again,” Lauren said. “They need to start mass-producing the compound. There’s no telling how quickly new strains of Oni Agent are evolving around the globe. For all we know, the FGL could be developing new strains of the Agent, too.”

“It’s a nightmare to think about,” Sean said, leaning back against a bulkhead. “It was one thing to model the spread of the Agent before. If it becomes globally airborne, any governments no longer in tatters are going to have a heck of a time.”

“That’s too true,” Lauren said. “If Matsumoto can help us, maybe it’ll convince me that giving him the Phoenix Compound was worth it.”

“Maybe,” Peter said, glaring at the unconscious man. “Maybe not.”

The hatch to the bay opened, and Lauren’s heart gave an uncharacteristic skip as Glenn Walsh barged in with a book in hand. The former Green Beret’s eyes were glued to the book until he reached Lauren. Only then did he glance up, give her a smile, and plant a kiss on her cheek.

“Afternoon, Doc,” he said in his rolling baritone voice. He plopped onto an empty patient exam chair. “Ready for my checkup.”

“Bet you’re ready for a whole lot more than that,” Sean said with an exaggerated wink.

“Give it a break,” Lauren said. But as she rolled up one of Glenn’s sleeves, revealing the thick muscles, she had to admit Sean might be at least a little bit right. She wished she could spend more time with Glenn outside the regular checkups she had the crew report for. But the lab and med bay kept her entirely occupied outside of meals and a few hours of sleep. She dabbed a spot on his forearm with an alcohol-moistened cotton swab, sterilizing the area. “Still feeling okay?”

“One hundred and ten percent,” he said. He used his free hand to open his eyelids wide. “No bloodshot eyes.” Then he held his hand out with fingers splayed. “No bony claws. Human through and through. No sign of being a Skull, thanks to my talented and beautiful doctor.”

“You’re too much,” Lauren said. “All the same, I’d like to keep it that way.” She drew a blood sample.

“I get the picture. You don’t know how long the Phoenix Compound will keep on working or if the Oni Agent will return.”

“That’s correct,” Lauren said, handing the blood sample to Divya to run.

“And you don’t know what the prolonged side effects might be. We’re all walking lab experiments.”

“Right again.”

“As long as one of those side effects includes me not turning into a Goliath or Drooler, I’ll be happy.”

Lauren patted his arm, and he rolled down his sleeve. She hated to think of Glenn constantly going into the field, facing those bony bastards head-on while she was stuck back in the lab. She wished he’d use his brains for something that kept him on the ship, like engineering or research. But as bookish as he was, she knew she couldn’t stop him from fighting.

Still, she didn’t want to dwell on it. With a nod, she indicated the book he’d dragged in. “What are you reading today?”

“The Tao of Physics,” he said.

“Any interesting insights?”

He waved the book in the air. “The only thing I’ve learned is that if there’s some coincidental parallels between science and any old strain of mysticism, you can sell a bunch of books.”

“So you’re saying I should start working on my bestseller now so I can get rich after we solve the whole Skull dilemma.”

“Exactly. You can be my sugar mama.”

“You have no idea how much I’d like that,” Lauren said.

And she meant it. The very idea that there might be a future where people still published books, where she and Glenn weren’t on a ship, on a mission to save the world...that alone was something to fight for.

She looked at Matsumoto. The old man slept on, seemingly unaware of the hell he’d unleashed on Earth.

-2-

Meredith opened the hatch to the electronics workshop. The hum of computer equipment accompanied the tinny beat coming from Samantha Hamlin’s headphones. Knowing her, it was probably some kind of German heavy metal. Samantha peered from behind the wall of crumpled energy drink cans on her desk and offered a single lifted hand in greeting.

At a desk markedly different in cleanliness and organization, Chao Li patiently scrolled through a host of documents plastered across the row of monitors before him.

“Good afternoon, Meredith,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Come to dig through the treasure trove with us?”

“It’s too juicy not to,” she replied.

“Your usual spot is open and ready,” Chao said. “Glenn helped us clean up some of the translations from the documents. There are plenty of video and audio files that need transcribing. We’ve run most of them through Samantha’s natural language processing software, but it’s still a work in progress.”

Samantha peeled back the headphones from one ear. “What he means to say is I’ve still got a shitload of work to do on it. So don’t judge too harshly.” She replaced the headphones and dove back into her work.

It was a wonder she could hear them at all above the thumping music blasting from the headphones. She and Chao made up the technical brains of the Huntress, a duo that could not be easily replaced. They’d lost the third member of their team, Adam Galloway, and his loss had been felt throughout the ship.

It was at his desk that Meredith now sat. Adam had made it into his own personal Batcave. She picked up one of the figurines from the desk and rotated it. It was a man with what looked like an owl mask. She knew it was a character from Adam’s favorite graphic-novel-turned-movie, Watchmen, but for the life of her, she couldn’t say what the character’s name was, superhero or real identity.

She replaced the figurine. Samantha had said Meredith could make the space her own, but something felt wrong about that. As if removing Adam’s belongings would somehow make it seem as though he had never worked here. Had never fought for the Hunters. Had never sacrificed himself to save Sadie, Navid, and Kara when a madman had threatened their lives back in Skull-riddled Virginia.

So with the company of plastic superheroes, she began to dig into the reports that Samantha and Chao were unearthing. While they focused on decrypting data and using their technical prowess to unlock the files they’d recovered in the Congo, it was Meredith’s job to make sense of the litany of facility maintenance reports, laboratory journals, workers’ schedules, and all manner of logs and computer files in hopes of piecing together narratives the computer techies might have missed.

Of particular interest were the documents they had managed to recover from Pyotr Spitkovsky’s personal intranet files. Many of the files were left incomplete or corrupted after the Congo facility became a warzone, interrupting the data transmission. Still, some intel had survived. She perused line after line of what looked like a manifesto outlining his hopes for the Forces of Global Liberation. Vague ideas about unshackling the chains of globalism. Spitkovsky wanted to see Lady Liberty bow to the resurrected Soviet empire.

Other than the manifesto, they had only been able to scrape together a handful of communications to other presumed leaders of the FGL. She desperately wanted to know whom those messages had been sent to. If they could find those people, talk to them...

The things we could learn.

She leaned back in her seat and folded her arms over her chest. What she really wanted was to get her hands on Spitkovsky. To wring his neck. To bash his head into the concrete. Her thoughts turned to her old boss in the CIA, David Lawson, and how he, and what seemed like half the government, had been duped so badly by the FGL. They had accused Meredith and the Hunters of playing a role in developing and releasing the Oni Agent. If all those people pointing fingers at each other could see the data she was seeing, they’d know how wrong they’d been.

She needed to convince them she was on their side. Lawson and General Kinsey, the man reorganizing America’s military forces, needed to know what the FGL had planned for the world.

These people need to be stopped.

“Damn, Mere, you look like you’re ready to beat the living shit out of someone,” Samantha said.

Meredith jumped. She’d been so focused that she had neglected to see the tattooed hacker approaching her desk.

“That isn’t far from the truth.” She exhaled. “In fact, that’s exactly how I feel.”

“If it’s anything like half the shit I’m skimming, I understand why.”

“I think we better call Dom,” Meredith said.

Dom was with Kara and Sadie at the moment. Meredith hated to interrupt the little time Dom got to spend with his daughters. But they needed to act on this intel. The fate of the world might be in their hands, and they couldn’t shoulder that burden alone.

“While you’re at it, call in Shepherd,” Meredith said.

Colonel Jacob Shepherd, the former acting commander of the Fort Detrick army garrison, was their sole—albeit tenuous—connection to the military forces on American soil. They might need him to leverage whatever credibility he had left to convince Kinsey, Lawson, and whoever else might listen to them. Without the help of the military, she doubted a group of mercenaries, scientists, and techies, as talented as they were, could do much to stop the tide of the Oni Agent.

“Both are on their way,” Chao reported.

In a matter of minutes, Shepherd and Dom had joined Chao, Samantha, and Meredith in the workshop. They sat around the central table, where a few tools and gizmos still lay, evidence of Chao’s earlier work modifying one of the many weaponized enhancements to Miguel’s prosthetic arm.

“Chao promised me good stuff,” Shepherd stated in a gruff voice.

“I don’t know if I’d call it good,” Meredith said. “It’s pure goddamned evil.”

“But we can go with ‘good’ if that’s what you’re into,” Samantha said.

“Do we know where we should go next?” Dom asked.

Meredith shook her head. “I’m not sure about that. But I do finally have some insight on the Titans. And most importantly, what Spitkovsky planned to do with them.”

“Do tell,” Shepherd said.

Chao jumped in. “It wasn’t possible to recover all the files, so the narrative we found isn’t necessarily a complete one. We parsed through what we could decrypt, however.”

Shepherd’s brows pinched together as if he were growing impatient. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“Meaning we have enough of the pieces to make sense of the story,” Meredith said, picking up where Chao left off. “We can support it with plenty of hard evidence from the mouth of the devil himself. Apparently, Spitkovsky’s father, Boris, learned of the US’s classified research after Operation Paperclip. He was a scientist in the USSR’s biological weapons program, the Biopreparat.”

“Paperclip? That’s when the US recruited scientists and researchers from post-Nazi Germany,” Shepherd said. “Correct me if I’m mistaken, but the guy snoozing in your med bay is Japanese.”

“Boris followed the careers of several former Nazi researchers and engineers,” Meredith said. “He was infuriated with the United States leeching bioweapons research from the Germans after World War II. He thought the USSR deserved a bigger piece of the pie. Somewhere along the line, he found out about Unit 731—the Japanese biological weapons research program during World War II—and that the US had recruited a number of their scientists.”

“Including our good friend Dr. Matsumoto,” Dom guessed.

“Correct. Boris became obsessed with the Amanojaku Project led by Matsumoto. It was designed to turn even the weakest of citizens under the Rising Sun into supernatural warriors to be the last line of defense against Western invaders. Somehow, Boris convinced the KGB of Matsumoto’s importance, and a deal was made.”

“What kind of deal was this?” Shepherd asked.

“That, we don’t know,” Chao said. “There’s very little information on the logistics of the matter. All we know is that Matsumoto ended up in the Biopreparat.”

“Interesting,” Dom said. “And Pyotr Spitkovsky took up his father’s mantle?”

“It appears that way,” Meredith said. “After one of the USSR’s senior researchers defected to the West in 1989 and revealed Biopreparat was continuing operations in spite of the Biological Weapons Convention of 1972, Pyotr and his father took their work underground. They buried everything, including Matsumoto, under layers of bureaucracy.”

Shepherd frowned. “We knew some of this before. So what’s the big bombshell?”

“What we didn’t know was the scope of their interest in biological weapons.” Meredith took a breath before continuing. “Matsumoto and Boris worked together to create the Oni Agent as we know it now. Before the USSR got their hands on the Amanojaku Project, the Agent was only a prion. Just an infectious protein. It was contagious through transfer of bodily fluids, and it made people go stark raving mad. Amped up their aggression and strength, but that’s it.”

“Meaning they didn’t turn into Skulls,” Samantha clarified, miming horns with crooked fingers.

“Spitkovsky Senior’s work was the key to integrating the nanobacteria component of the Oni Agent,” Chao said.

“Boris did that,” Dom said. It sounded almost like a question. “The nanobacteria which inhabit the bones. They create the claws and armor that have been such a pain in my ass when dealing with the Skulls.”

“Exactly,” Meredith said. “Boris died about a decade and a half ago. The project was, according to the Russian Federation’s records, scrapped for all intents and purposes. But Spitkovsky didn’t give up his daddy’s work.”

“Things get murky between then and now,” Samantha added. She popped the top on a canned energy drink and put her feet up, apparently enjoying the unfolding drama.

“Skip ahead, and we get to a project code-named Human Machine,” Meredith said. “That research was supposed to create a genetically engineered super soldier. We lost the details of the project, but we do know that it eventually intersected with Boris and Matsumoto’s work on the Oni Agent.”

Dom leaned forward. “The Titans.”

Meredith nodded gravely. “That’s what we think. Spitkovsky admired the power of people transformed by the Oni Agent, but they were uncontrollable. What good is a weapon if it can’t be aimed properly? He sought to correct this through the use of the Titans. Don’t ask me how, but the Titans somehow exert influence over the Skulls. The big bastards keep the little ones in line.”

“Ho-ly shit,” Shepherd said. “If we knew how the Titans did their thing, we could find a way to control the Skulls ourselves.”

Meredith shrugged. “Maybe. But the Titan project wasn’t completed. Spitkovsky didn’t have total control over the monsters he created.”

“Still, we have to share these results with Lauren,” Dom said. “If they can find anything that could at all influence Skull behavior, it might save a lot of lives. Ours included.”

“Agreed. Unfortunately, that’s all we’ve got,” Meredith said.

Shepherd’s face turned to a stony grimace. “Not exactly the revelation I was hoping to hear.”

“We don’t have any confirmation about what’s going on in Baghdad or any of the satellite labs?” Dom asked, referring to data Chao had shown them before the Congo mission. Iran, Russia, and Iraq had set up a supposed joint communications center in Baghdad. The Hunters weren’t sure what actually went on there, but a massive amount of data had been transferred between Baghdad and the Congo FGL facilities.

“There were some cryptic messages that seemed to indicate they weren’t done spreading the Oni Agent. Maybe there were new weapons that were going to be launched or something,” Chao said.

“It seemed like these messages were intended for several sites around the world,” Samantha added. “We couldn’t get any locations.”

“Damn,” Dom said.

“We also have no idea what Spitkovsky’s end game is,” Meredith said. “Or for that matter, what his motives are. I don’t buy this whole ‘glory of Mother Russia’ thing. But whatever’s going on, it looks like Spitkovsky’s version of the apocalypse hasn’t even begun.”

Meredith saw a fire start to burn behind Dom’s eyes. It was the same fire that had been swelling in her chest since she initially studied all this intel with Chao and Samantha. Without anyone saying a word, she knew they had all come to the same conclusion: they were damn well going to find out what Spitkovsky was up to. And they wouldn’t stop at anything to do it.

***

Dom marched from the electronics workshop with Meredith on his heels. So far, they had been gentle with Matsumoto, hoping that the old man would gradually recover from his ordeal. But the time for gentleness was over. Only two people in the world knew what Spitkovsky was planning, and one of them was aboard Dom’s ship. His vision narrowed as he approached the med bay.

“Dom!” Meredith said, grabbing his shoulder.

He shrugged her off. “That bastard is going to talk. I don’t give a shit if he’s half-dead and senile. No more waiting.”

“He’s only been lucid for no more than a few minutes at a time,” Meredith said.

“Lives are at stake. If Spitkovsky is planning something even worse than the Oni Agent outbreak, Matsumoto might be our last shot at finding out what that is.”

Meredith stopped in the passageway. She let out a long exhalation.

He knew what she was thinking. Neither of them was new to intelligence gathering. They both knew that prying intel out of an asset under duress almost never yielded anything useful. And trying to get worthwhile information from a man who might be senile was like betting on a lame horse to win the Kentucky Derby.

But he was tired of waiting. Tired of running into dead ends every time it seemed as if they had found an exit from this Byzantine labyrinth of conspiracy and nightmares. He grabbed the handle on the med bay’s hatch.

“Dom!” Meredith called to him.

Dom whipped around. He looked at Meredith with eyes narrowed. Heat flushed through his face—anger at being distracted from his mission. But he pushed the rage aside. Meredith was not his enemy.

“Dom,” she said. “You have to think this through. We don’t know how many shots we’ll get at interrogating this guy.”

“And we don’t know how long it’ll be until Spitkovsky releases the next phase of the Oni Agent.”

“Which is why we have to do this right.”

“We can’t sit around and twiddle our thumbs, talking about how to do this right.” He waved a hand. “Just like the CIA did. Just like the UN did. Just like our goddamned government did. Look where that’s gotten us. We need to act now.”

“I know you think you’re doing the right thing. But don’t let your hotheadedness ruin this for us.” She gestured to the empty corridors. He knew what she meant. The ship. His crew. His family. Him. Her.

Dom’s heart still pounded, fueled by an anger that thrashed like a fish on a dock, not wanting to die. He pushed at it anyway. His fingers slipped from the hatch’s handle. “I know.”

Meredith nodded. She grabbed his wrist. “We have to do this the right way.”

“I know,” he said again. “But we don’t have the luxury of deliberation anymore. This is Spitkovsky’s game. Not ours. We don’t even know the goddamn rules. I want something we can use when we reach Lajes. I want to know how the Oni Agent spread in the first place. Why they did it, and how they plan to finish the job they started.”

“So do I. But we’ve got to be rational.”

“You’re right.” Dom willed his breathing to slow. “And on any other mission, I would be one hundred percent on your side.”

Meredith rolled her eyes. “Good God, Dom. Don’t tell me you’re still going in there.”

“I’m still going in there.” The beast of anger still raged in him, but he had caged it. For the time being, at least. If he let his mind stray too far, back to Renee and Hector and... No, no, listen to Mere. “I’m going to talk to that piece of shit. But I’ll be as nice as I damn well can.”

“That vein’s popping in your forehead again.”

“And if Matsumoto is lucky, that’ll be the only thing popping.”

“At least let me come with.”

“I was never going to tell you not to.”

“And even if you did, I’d still be in there.”

“I know.” There was a beat of silence. Just Dom’s pulse pounding in his ears. “We going to do the old good cop, bad cop thing?”

“Yeah, sure, something like that.”

They entered the med bay. Lauren shot him a suspicious glance from the lab. She put down whatever she was working on, peeled off her gloves, and joined them.

“You want to talk to Matsumoto, don’t you?” she asked.

Dom nodded. “How’d you guess?”

“I could see it in your eyes, Dom. You’d be a terrible poker player.”

“So can we get to it?”

“We can try.”

He had expected Lauren to protest, but she seemed to have no issue with his plan. Maybe she was at the end of her rope, too.

He looked at the man lying alone in a patient bed. IV tubes traced from plastic bags and into the leather of his skin. Other tubes snaked from an oxygen tank and into his nostrils. Bastard shouldn’t even be alive. From everything Lauren had told him, Matsumoto was more machine than human.

“Can you wake him?” Dom asked.

“I can try,” Lauren said. “Hold on.” She retrieved a syringe full of some clear liquid. She attached the syringe to a nozzle on the IV tube and pushed it in.

Dom loomed over Matsumoto. The man’s breathing remained the same. In. Out. Painfully slow, assisted by the machines blinking and buzzing all around him. His eyelids fluttered.

Dom held his breath.

Matsumoto grumbled. His head lolled sideways, his lips open. Then he turned slowly. He said something in Japanese.

Lauren sat on a stool behind them, watching Matsumoto’s biomonitors. Meredith placed a hand on Dom’s shoulder, half to reassure him and half to hold him back.

Matsumoto’s eyelids fluttered again. This time they stayed open. He stared up at Dom. No hint of recognition or understanding. There was only a bleary-eyed, gray weakness behind his gaze. This wasn’t the visage of a man ruled by his hatred against the United States. Nor was it the look of a deranged sociopath yearning to conquer the world. There was something almost like...

No, that can’t be.

Dom recognized the look in the man’s face. Pity. Goddamn motherfucking pity.

“You...you are the Americans,” Matsumoto said. His words were barely tarnished by a slight accent. “Pyotr warned about you. Told me...my work...”

The man’s eyes gleamed with tears.

The beast of rage within Dom fell back inside its cage. Confused.

Matsumoto mumbled something in Japanese. His eyes seemed to lose their focus, and the babble of words slowed to a trickle.

“Lauren, what’s going on?” Dom asked.

“His lucidity does not last,” she said. “He was fading long before he got on this ship.”

“Matsumoto,” Dom said, his voice chilled and smooth. It was hard to believe this man was supposedly still working in the Congo up until mere days ago. “I need you to talk to me. Do you realize what you’ve done?”

The old man’s focus came back. “My children. My wife. My parents. My family. Taken by American bombs. No chance to fight back. No honor in a death like that.” A veiny hand reached out and grabbed Dom’s wrist. “I couldn’t let the world fall like that. There’s a warrior in all of us. Everyone. It is better to die by the sword than be burned in our sleep.”

“Did you drug him?” Dom asked.

“Could be the sedatives,” Lauren said. “Or maybe this is just how he is now.”

“The Amanojaku. Shinigami. The death gods are on earth,” he said. “We cannot control them. Only the shinigami control the shinigami.”

Dom tried to follow the man.

“The shinigami lords will stop the deathless.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dom said, “I knew this guy was mad, but...is he talking about the Titans?”

Meredith shrugged. “Damned if I know.”

“Matsumoto,” Dom said, “I need to know what Pyotr has planned. More Titans? Did you help him do that?”

“I work, a shackled man. Want to die,” he said. “But Pyotr does not let me.” Then his eyes blazed. All pity, all sorrow gone. “Men, women, children, they will no longer bow to the shameful emperor of the Americans. Because soon they will all be gods. And gods do not bow to men.”

The man reached out, grabbing Dom’s collar.

“Pyotr promised my honor would be returned to me. To my family. You will not stop him. You will not stop the shinigami. They have only just begun the march on mankind.”

The knobby-knuckled fingers let go, and Matsumoto fell back against his bed. His eyes fluttered closed.

“Matsumoto, what do you mean? When is this happening?” Dom demanded.

But the old man was gone again.

-3-

Shepherd stood at the chart table on the Huntress’s bridge. Officer of the Watch Cliff Slaton’s face was buried in the instruments, while Dom’s first mate, Thomas Hampton, watched silently. Thomas was still moving with a robotic stiffness, evidence of the injuries he’d sustained during the Huntress’s takeover several weeks ago, but the wrinkles radiating from his eyes made him look every bit like the salty sea dog he was.

“Just another day, maybe two, depending on the weather,” Cliff said.

“I miss weather reports,” Thomas said. “Could really use access to Doppler right now.”

“It’s almost like we’re sailing in the time of wooden sloops and schooners.”

Thomas laughed, rolling an unlit cigar between his fingers. “Boy, I was born in those days.”

Cliff smirked, his bright-blue eyes still on the cresting waves ahead. “You wish, old man.”

Gray skies were on the horizon, and the waters looked choppier than usual. “I’m not a sailor,” Shepherd said, surveying the ominous dark clouds. “But do you really need Doppler to tell you things are rough out there?”

“We got a landlubber over here telling us how to sail our ship,” Thomas said with a faux pirate accent.

“Truth is,” Cliff said, “a little rough water is one thing. But I’d like to know how rough. If we knew where this storm head begins and ends, we could see if it’s avoidable—and if it’s worth avoiding.”

“Fair enough,” Shepherd said. He leaned on the chart table with his eyes still glued to the horizon. All these men and women aboard the Huntress seemed to worship the ocean. The real world lived and functioned and thrived on land, where human beings had created civilization.

The call to land became greater with each mile he had put between himself and his garrison at Fort Detrick. Maybe a court martial was waiting for him when he returned. Maybe something worse. But the longer he spent here on the Huntress, the longer he delayed facing reality. He needed to get back to Fort Detrick, or at least Kent Island, where a refuge had been established for civilians weathering the storm of the Oni Agent. He knew the midshipmen on board, Rachel Kaufman and Rory Booker, were itching to get back to their stations there too. The two brave cadets had followed him across the ocean to fulfill their promise to Dom, but now all three of them wanted to get back to work.

Thankfully, it seemed Dom needed them to go back, too. At least, he assumed that was why Dom had called their meeting today. Footsteps on the stairs—ladders, Shepherd corrected himself. That was what the crew called them. Footsteps on the ladders announced the entrance of the others for today’s conference.

Meredith came first, followed by Lauren and Dom. The trio sat around the chart table, joining Shepherd and Thomas. The darkness sagging under Dom’s eyes gave away his exhaustion, and judging by the way he was clenching his jaw, his talk with Matsumoto hadn’t been as fruitful as any of them had hoped.

“We’ll be at Lajes within a couple days,” Thomas began.

“Colonel Ronaldo knows to expect us then?” Dom asked.

“He does,” Thomas said. “Spoke to him not too long ago. He’s looking forward to it. Wanted to know if there’s anything he can do to prepare for our arrival.”

“Warm up the grills and start the cookout,” Meredith said. “I hear the islands are nice this time of year.”

“Anything’s nice that isn’t infested with Skulls,” Dom said. “Unfortunately, a beach bonfire isn’t going to solve the problems we’re facing right now.”

Dom didn’t need to go over the litany of challenges facing them. Shepherd and the others were well versed in them by now.

“I take it Matsumoto didn’t have anything useful to say,” Shepherd said.

“Other than some cryptic warnings, no. At least his ramblings seem to support what Meredith and the others found in the data we recovered from FGL.”

“Damn shame,” Shepherd said. “You planning to tell Kinsey?”

Dom had initially held back on sharing everything they had found in the Congo. Shepherd understood why. General Kinsey’s people had put him through the wringer, taking him through his own “enhanced interrogation” to confirm their suspicions that Dom, Meredith, and the Hunters were somehow responsible for the Oni Agent. Dom wanted to be sure that Kinsey would believe the intel when they sent it, and he wanted assurances that Kinsey would act on it.

As soon as they reopened communications with Kinsey, they risked letting the general and his cohorts know where the Huntress was and approximately where they planned to go. Dom had only just gotten his ship back from the US Coast Guard, and doing so hadn’t come without a cost—to both the Hunters and to the USCG.

“I don’t think we’re left with any other choice,” Dom finally said. “Kinsey has to know Spitkovsky is planning something. Whether he thinks we’re involved or not at this point isn’t my concern. If Spitkovsky launches a new attack that catches them all off guard, then that will be my fault.”

“I understand,” Shepherd said. “Look, I know we’ve discussed this before, but we need to revisit it. Your people can’t get me back to the United States. I understand that. The chopper only gets us so far, and resources and time are limited. When we get to Lajes, though, I think that’s got to be it for me. If Ronaldo can spare a plane, I want to return home.”

“Are you planning on Kent or trying to get back to Detrick?” Dom asked.

“I haven’t worked that out yet,” Shepherd said. “Neither really has the capacity to land and refuel a plane that can handle a trans-Atlantic flight.”

“So you’re thinking about requesting a landing in a militarized safe zone.”

“That would be correct,” Shepherd said. “I think it’s necessary.”

“In that case, we’ll definitely need to reestablish comms with Kinsey,” Dom said. He didn’t look as pissed as Shepherd had thought he would. “I don’t want you getting shot down.”

“You know, neither do I. I realize this puts you at risk, though, so if you would prefer we not connect with Stateside bases, I understand. We can also try to run things through Lajes.”

Meredith tilted her head in bemusement. “And how are you going to explain a random trip to Lajes when you make that call?”

“I’ll think of something.”

Dom shook his head. “It’s high time that we reestablish a more formal relationship with the US government. I think we’ve come to a point in this mission where we need their support. If we don’t have that, we might as well keep shooting random Skulls while we wait for Spitkovsky to make his move.”

“I think I can work with the data you have and serve as an emissary to Kinsey,” Shepherd said. “If I willingly go to him, he’ll have to see that as a sign of trust.”

“Sounds damn optimistic for a man who was already tortured once by Kinsey’s people,” Thomas said.

“You’re one hundred percent right, but what else do I have to lose at this point? I’m supposed to be the one in charge at Detrick, and I’m halfway across the world instead. This isn’t right for me—or for the men and women who are still serving there.”

“I have a feeling the midshipmen might want to go back with you,” Dom said.

“They’ve told me as much.”

“Then it’s settled.” Dom looked toward Meredith. “And like you always remind me, we’ve got one shot at this. I want to do this right. We’re going to share absolutely everything we’ve found with Kinsey.” His eyes met Lauren’s. “That means everything from the Phoenix Compound to what we uncovered on Spitkovsky and the Titans. All of it.”

“Understood,” Meredith said. “I’ll work with Chao and Samantha to write up some intel briefs.”

“I’ve already documented everything on the Phoenix Compound,” Lauren said. “It’ll be no problem to share it. And you know as well as I do, we can barely produce enough for the whole crew. We need Kinsey and anyone else out there with access to pharmaceutical manufacturing resources to start churning out the compound as soon as possible. We can also provide template compounds to get them up and running much sooner.”

“Templates?” Shepherd asked.

“Physical samples they can reproduce to ensure they’re making the right stuff right away.”

Dom turned to Lauren. “Do you think Matsumoto can handle a flight?”

“Well, yes, I suppose, if we can set up the equipment.”

“It’s time we returned him to the States,” Dom said. “Show Kinsey we mean business. Lauren, I don’t mean any disrespect, but our medical resources are limited. Maybe they can do more for Matsumoto than we can.”

Lauren nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll need to send someone to take care of him on the trip.”

Dom’s eyes closed. Shepherd could tell he didn’t relish splitting his crew up. “Of course. We’ll do what we have to. Matsumoto must make it to the United States alive.”

“I’ll make sure that happens,” Shepherd said. “As long as I’m breathing, that bastard is going to stay alive long enough to see what he’s done.”

***

Kara’s hair whipped across her face and tickled her skin. Her hands tightened around the railing. Her father didn’t like her coming out onto the deck in weather like this, but she knew she could handle it. The ocean was a bit choppy, sure, but she couldn’t stand being cooped up inside the ship for days on end. There were only so many card games she could play with Kara, Rachel, Rory, and Navid.

Even though her work with the FoldIt program had unlocked the Phoenix Compound, there was precious little she could do now to help out. All the other scientific tasks were beyond her meager experience, and she could appreciate the fact that Lauren and Navid hadn’t really had time to devote to training her.

Still, she wanted to do something to help around here.

I guess staying out of people’s way is something.

“Kara!” a shrill voice yelled. Her sister, Sadie.

Or more importantly, keeping Sadie out of the way. She smiled.

“It’s so cool up here. Look at those clouds!” Sadie said, leaning against the gunwale.

Kara grabbed her shoulder, pulling her back. “Careful, there.”

“But we’re not even on the outer deck,” Sadie said. “If I fell, I’d just hit that deck.” She pointed to the flat metallic surface. “No big deal.”

“Remind me you said that after you knock yourself out with a fall.”

Sadie grinned. “I think I’ll pass.”

“You get smarter every day.”

“Because of all those books Glenn lets me borrow,” Sadie said, missing Kara’s sarcasm.

“Nice of him to keep you out my hair like that.”

Sadie elbowed her playfully in the side. Then something furry pushed itself between them, tail wagging and big brown eyes pleading for her humans to get along with each other.

“Oh, Maggie,” Kara said, bending down and rubbing the dog’s head. “Don’t you worry. I’m just joking around.”

Sadie wailed in mock agony and held the spot where Kara had elbowed her. Her face scrunched up as if she were in ungodly amounts of pain, and she fell to the deck.

Maggie’s tail whipped about madly. She attempted to heal Sadie with kisses. Sadie’s feigned hurt soon turned to uncontrollable laughter as she tried to restrain Maggie from slobbering all over her face.

“Help me!” Sadie yelled.

“You sleep in the bed you make!” Kara said with a laugh.

“You sound like Dad.”

“That’s not funny.” Still, Kara couldn’t withhold the slight smile. Another salt breeze tossed her hair about her face. She had to tie her hair back to keep it out of her eyes.

Sadie got to her feet and stood beside Kara. Maggie sat on her haunches, head cocked as if wondering what her two human sisters were up to.

“How long do you think we’ll be out here?” Sadie asked. “I miss the land.”

Kara put an arm around her sister’s shoulder. She yearned to stretch her legs and go for a hike or run. “I know what you mean.”

Then Sadie’s eyes became watery, and her lips curved into a slight frown. “I miss home.”

“Me too,” Kara said softly.

“I miss Mom.”

Kara wrapped her arms tightly around her sister and pulled her in close. She rubbed Sadie’s back. When Sadie or Kara used to wake up from a nightmare, their mother would rub their backs just like that to coax them back to sleep. She would tell them everything would be fine. There were no monsters in their closet or under their beds.

But there really were monsters in their closet. In their homes. Their neighborhoods. Everywhere they looked.

Kara shuddered. Their mom was a monster now, too.

Sadie’s warm tears seeped into Kara’s shirt. She imagined what her mom must look like. All covered in yellowed bone plates and long claws perfect for tearing flesh. No friendly, loving eyes. Just orbs riddled by hemorrhaged blood vessels, stained forever red. Strands of hair tangled between a crown of horns.

Squeezing her eyes closed, she tried to push those thoughts aside. Maybe her mother was at peace. It was a horrible thing to wish one of your parents was dead, but now the alternative was far worse.

For several minutes, Kara held her sister. Maggie squeezed between their legs, her ears drooping and golden fur tickling Kara. She gave the dog a reassuring scratch between her shoulders, and Maggie’s tail swept the deck. The dog had no idea what was happening to the world, and for that, Kara was envious. Maggie brought joy to their lives and licked away their tears, making the pain of losing their mother a little more bearable.

It was then Kara realized she was doing something helpful. It might seem like such a small thing, but Sadie needed her. She needed her big sister to share the burden of witnessing what had happened to their mother. What had happened to countless others across the globe.

Yes, it was such a little thing to Kara to offer a shoulder for Sadie to cry on. But Kara imagined what it would be like for Sadie to deal with all of this alone.

Then Kara heard a low thumping over the crashing of waves. It was familiar. At least, she thought it was. The rhythmic beat seemed to fade as wind rushed over her.

Maybe it had been her imagination. A shiver crept down her spine. It wasn’t from the cold.

Sadie had composed herself but still leaned against Kara. She opened her mouth as if to say something.

“Shhh,” Kara said. “I thought—”

She stopped. Something over the horizon caught her attention. Spots in the sky, moving fast through the gray clouds. Too fast to be birds. Her heart climbed into her throat.

“Sadie, we need to get inside. Now!”

-4-

Dom stood next to Thomas on the bridge. They had been discussing what the best path would be to avoid the storm ahead.

“I think I’m picking something up,” Cliff said, hunched over his station.

“The storm front?” Thomas asked.

“No, no, there’s something on the radar,” he replied. “It’s intermittent, like it’s coming in low.” He paused, studying the radar screen. “It’s gone again.”

“Get a visual on it,” Dom said.

Cliff pulled up a pair of binoculars. “Got it. Targets sighted. Three contacts incoming.”

A cold wind blew through Dom’s insides. He took the binos from Cliff and looked to where the man had indicated the incoming targets. “Christ. Thomas, arm the surface-to-air-missiles.”

“On it,” Thomas said without hesitation. He slid into the weapons station. “Just tell me where, Captain.”

“Alert all crew to battle stations,” Dom said. “Prepare for emergency response and damage control. All Hunters report to the armory immediately. Code Red.”

“Yes, Captain.” Cliff turned to the shipboard comms. “All hands on deck. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. Code Red. I repeat, Code Red.”

“What are we looking at, Captain?” Thomas asked.

“Three birds, at least,” Dom said. He studied the choppers. The trio skirted just above the water. The waves seemed to tickle their underbellies. Flying so low meant they were intentionally avoiding detection.

The leader of the flight group appeared to be a light attack helicopter. Two small wings jutted from its triangular fuselage. From each hung a rocket pod and a light machine gun. Dom was almost positive it wasn’t Russian, but the two transport birds flying behind it were undoubtedly based on the Russian-made Mi-8 airframes. That didn’t necessarily mean they were Russian. Many other countries used those aircraft.

But given the recent events in the Congo, Dom had a sneaking suspicion these might indeed have a close relationship to the Russians—or the FGL, to be precise. The two transport helicopters weren’t decked-out gunships like the attack chopper leading them. They were likely filled with either troops or cargo.

“They haven’t tried to hail us, have they?” Dom asked.

He feared he already knew the answer. No choppers flew that low with that many weapons because they were looking to make friends. Still, Dom didn’t want to start a fight if they could avoid it. They didn’t have the ordnance to waste. With many of their ship’s guns still damaged from their run-in with the Coast Guard, there wasn’t a great deal they could do. They only had a few SAMs left.

If only we had had a couple more days. He had been planning to make repairs and resupply at Lajes.

“No incoming hails, Captain,” Cliff said. “Shall I try to make contact?”

“Do it.”

Cliff clicked on the radio. “Unidentified aircraft, this is radio operator from the vessel intersecting your vector. Please respond.”

No response. Just the hiss of static.

Cliff repeated his hail.

Dom didn’t expect any answer. Electricity coursed through his nerves, urging him to act. Fire now! a voice in his head cried. Blast them before they can make it anywhere close to the ship.

But he couldn’t kill them in cold blood. Maybe they were running from something. It was unlikely but not impossible.

His thoughts turned to his crew, the civilians they’d rescued, and his daughters. He’d rather blast a potentially hostile chopper out of the sky than risk their lives.

“Thomas, let’s see if a quick warning turns them around.”

“Gatling?”

“Yes.”

A moment later, the sawblade-like whine of the Gatling cut through the air over the bow of the ship. The gun spewed rounds punctuated by orange tracer fire across the leading attack chopper’s cockpit, missing by less than a yard. Cliff repeated his request for contact over the comms.

This time they got a response, but it wasn’t over the radio.

Rockets flew from the attack chopper, trailing streamers of black smoke behind them. They pounded the deck, chewing up the metal. The ship shook, and Klaxons screeched on the bridge.

Dom rocked forward. He caught himself on one of the consoles, and pain radiated from his healing leg wound.

“Meredith,” Dom called over the comms, trying to keep panic from shaking his voice. Kara and Sadie should’ve stowed themselves somewhere safe as soon as the Code Red was called. But he couldn’t help his fatherly worry. “Have you seen my daughters?”

“They’re safe in their quarters with Maggie,” she replied.

Dom wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. But he knew this had only just begun. “Cliff, damage report?”

“Gatling is down. No immediate signs of catastrophic structural damage. Engineers are containing the fires.”

“Thomas, take those bastards out of the sky,” Dom said. “Now.”

“You got it, Captain. Targets locked.” He pressed the execute command.

Three missiles blasted out of the forward launcher. They burned low across the water. A spray of white mist exploded behind them. Dom’s vision narrowed on the missiles as they approached their targets. In perfect harmony, the choppers lifted from their formation, peeling away from each other. The missiles adjusted trajectories. Then the choppers shed a flurry of bright flares.

“Damn it,” Thomas said, pounding his fist on the weapons control console. The targeting systems were confused by the flares, and they speared harmlessly past the choppers.

“How many missiles left?” Dom asked.

“Three,” Thomas growled.

Sweat beaded across Dom’s forehead, and he fought to control his breathing. “Wait until they’re closer, then fire again.”

They had a few Stingers in the armory the crew could operate. But the last thing Dom wanted to do was have his people up on the deck, unprotected, to fight back those birds.

“How in the hell did they find us?” Thomas asked.

“I’ll be sure to ask them once they’re at the bottom of the ocean,” Dom said. Without the Gatling gun, the ship was defenseless against any rocket salvos, but the choppers resumed formation and simply continued coming straight at the ship.

“Why aren’t they firing?” Cliff asked.

Then everything began to click. All the initial attack had done was eliminate the Gatling gun, an obvious and immediate threat to the choppers. Which meant the choppers’ goal wasn’t to simply destroy the Huntress. There was a reason they were coming in with a contingent of troops to risk a dangerous boarding. They wanted something on the ship.

“I’ve got a lock again,” Thomas said.

“Fire.”

The last three missiles erupted from the launcher. Again the choppers unleashed their flares. The attack chopper swung through the air, and the missile intended for it skimmed over the water’s surface, barely missing. The closest transport chopper narrowly avoided its own fiery fate.

The third was not so lucky. Smoke and fire swallowed the helicopter, its rotors bending and breaking. It spun, hitting the water sideways, and choppy gray waves finished the job the missile had started.

Even as the chopper succumbed to the unforgiving might of the Atlantic, Dom felt no sense of victory.

The worst, he knew, was yet to come.

***

The crackle of flames sounded from somewhere above the cargo hold where Meredith, Miguel, Spencer, and Glenn were positioned at the ladders leading to the deck. Jenna, Andris, and Terrence had taken a Stinger to the stern of the ship, waiting to see if their anti-air intervention would be necessary. Meredith glanced at the others. Their eyes were glued to the hatch above them. They heard explosions along with something that sounded like strafing machine-gun fire. Each impact resonated through the bulkheads.

“One transport chopper down,” Dom said over the comms. “Attack chopper still in the air. Second transport coming in low, likely to unload.”

Meredith focused on the sounds above, ignoring her pounding pulse and her firing nerves. More clangs against steel. The sound of something crashing across the deck.

“We are moving to intercept,” Andris said. “Stinger armed.”

“Prioritize the attack chopper,” Dom said. “Take it out before it gets to you.”

“Yes, Captain,” Andris replied.

Meredith hated being blind to the action, but they had to defend this point. Going above deck with their rifles would be ineffective against a fully loaded attack chopper. It was a damn good way to be blasted to fish food by the chopper’s machine guns. All they could do was hope that Andris and his team knocked the helicopters out before they could unload their troops. If not, they would begin another waiting game as the boarders forced their way into the ship.

“About to exit—”

A resounding blast echoed through the Huntress. The metal deck beneath Meredith’s feet trembled, and she grabbed a stanchion to keep from falling.

“Captain,” Andris called over the comms. “We had to retreat. It’s too hot. The ladder we tried to use to get above deck...it is gone. No longer any way up from the stern.”

“Understood,” Dom said. “They’re probing for an entrance.” Meredith imagined his position. He would be watching helplessly from the bridge as the choppers circled the ship like sharks after a wounded fish. “See if you can get to the central superstructure.”

“Yes, Captain,” Andris said.

The line went silent, but the sounds of the helicopters circling above never ceased. In her mind’s eye, Meredith saw the attack chopper looking for any sign of the ship’s defenders, ready to mow them down with a spat of gunfire.

“Contacts boarding!” Dom’s voice boomed over the comms.

The sounds of boots hitting the deck above rang out. Meredith tried to count the impacts. One...two...three...

She knew Dom was probably tracking them as well. He’d give them a report. But she counted anyway. It gave her something to do. Otherwise, she would start worrying about the others hidden in their quarters and the med bay.

...seven...eight...

Then the throaty bark of machine guns ricocheted through the deck.

“Shit!” Dom said. “They’re firing into the bridge. We saw twelve soldiers board. Might be more, but we can’t get a visual.”

“Copy,” Miguel said. He flexed his prosthetic fingers then curled them around his rifle again. They tapped along its sides with a mechanical clack. He pressed the stock of his rifle into his shoulder and leaned over the crate where he was hunkered down, aiming at the hatch leading to the upper deck. “Get ready, Alpha team.”

“Those boys won’t know what hit ’em,” Glenn rumbled.

“Twelve of them, huh?” Meredith asked. “I call the first six.”

She tried to match the bravado of Miguel, Spencer, and Glenn. She knew it was all a front. Sure, they were brave. But that didn’t mean they felt no fear when confronted with daunting odds. It only meant they were willing to face those odds anyway.

“Greedy?” Miguel asked, glancing at her.

Meredith touched her scarred ear. “I figure I owe them some lead.”

“I’ve got plenty to give,” Spencer said, shouldering his rifle.

The boot steps above clanged frantically. Meredith’s finger hovered near the trigger guard, and she had to remind herself to keep breathing. For a moment, all was quiet except for the drone of hovering choppers.

Then the hatch imploded, followed by a flash of brilliant light and serpentine tendrils of smoke. Soldiers rushed in. They wore mottled gray fatigues and masks. She recognized the suppressed AS Val rifles they carried—a favorite of Russian Special Forces.

One by one, the attackers filtered through the hatch into the darkened bay. Meredith sighted the first one up. She followed the man’s body as he swiveled, his gun sweeping over the shadows and crates, the empty Zodiac, and the cables swinging from a pulley system. They would let a few of the bastards in before they opened fire—take them down while they were still exposed.

She waited, taking long, slow breaths.

Then Miguel whispered the command through the comm link. “Fire.”

The rifle bucked against her shoulder. A short burst took the first attacker down. Miguel, Spencer, and Glenn’s marks crumpled without a sound. Everything else faded as her world became her rifle’s sights. She caught the next attacker lowering himself through the hatch. Rounds riddled his legs and torso. He fell backward, rifle clattering next to him, limbs sprawled.

Miguel and Glenn each brought down another. The bodies littered the deck entrance to the cargo bay. Another man leaned into the hatch. Meredith fired. This time, the shots pinged against the bulkhead, barely missing. Gunfire pierced the cargo hold in response, and she was forced to duck.

The ambush was over. Their positions were known, and the skirmish began in earnest. Meredith’s heart hammered. She pressed as close to the crate as she could, willing herself to become smaller. She leaned out and traded another round of shots.

She pictured the civilians all hunkered in their cabins, frightened by the gunfire. Defenseless. As long as the attackers were stuck on the other side of that hatch, those people would be safe. And once Andris, Jenna, and Terrence took down the attack chopper, they would be clear to pin these guys down from above, leaving them no room to escape.

Then the attackers’ guns went silent.

The moment of quiet stretched for several seemingly long seconds. Unease settled in Meredith’s gut. Something wasn’t right. She maintained her aim, waiting for someone to fire on them again.

But no one did.

Have they moved on? Meredith wondered. Maybe going for an alternate entrance?

Her question was answered soon enough. A small cylinder bounced into the middle of the cargo hold.

Stun grenade, she realized too late.

White light pierced her retinas. A loud blast slammed against her eardrums. Her balance shifted as if the ship itself were being tossed about in a hurricane. No matter how much she blinked, her vision didn’t return. She heard a distant rattle then louder popping. The attackers were firing on them while their senses were muddled, and blinded and half-deaf, the Hunters couldn’t risk shooting back for fear of hitting their comrades. Unless Andris’s team was having better luck, she feared the battle had already been won.

***

Andris hoisted the Stinger over his back as gunfire erupted in the cargo hold below.

“They’re in!” Miguel called over the comms. “Bravo, we need backup now!”

“We are on it,” Andris said.

He could not allow himself to fail. To fail would be to condemn his comrades. Worse, it would mean Spitkovsky and his Russians won. Andris came from Latvia, a country that had once been under the iron rule of the Soviet Union.

The Russians had taken everything from him. His family. His dreams. He wouldn’t let them take the Huntress or its crew.

His boots slammed against the ladder as he bounded up toward the deck. Andris, Jenna, and Terrence reached the promenade deck around the superstructure. Just beyond the closed hatch, the choppers’ engines roared. There would be no room for errors once they exited that hatch. If they were lucky, they would have a few seconds before the enemy fired. The chopper had been able to avoid their SAMs before. But not now. It was too close to dodge a missile from the Stinger.

“You know this is overkill, right?” Andris asked, turning back to Terrence and Jenna. He jammed a battery coolant unit into the Stinger’s handguard. “That bird is close enough for me to pitch a grenade into it.”

“They play baseball in Latvia?” Jenna asked.

“It is not as popular as football.”

“The kicking kind, not the tackling kind,” Terrence clarified.

“There is no other kind,” Andris spat, unfolding the sighting reticule of the missile launcher.

“Did you play it?” Jenna asked.

“Football?”

“No,” Jenna said, pressing an ear against the hatch, then looked back at him. “Baseball.”

“Of course not. I was too busy starving while the Russians worked my parents to death in their factories.”

“Then I don’t want to rely on your pitching arm.” She gripped the handle of the hatch. “I like the Stingers better.”

“Fine,” Andris said. “As long as it makes a boom, I will be quite happy.”

“Ready?” Terrence said, shouldering his rifle.

“Ready,” Andris responded.

He situated the Stinger’s weight over his shoulder. It was heavy but no more of a burden than the responsibility for saving his comrades.

Jenna pushed open the door. Blinding light poured in. It took Andris’s eyes a moment to adjust. Terrence exited first, his rifle playing across the decks.

“Clear!” he said.

Andris charged out next, followed by Jenna. The thrum of blades pounding the air swallowed all other sounds. He searched the graying skies for the offending choppers.

“Where are those Soviet assholes?” Andris asked.

“There!” Jenna pointed to one of the choppers hovering high against the bright sky. It had retreated from the ship after dropping off its load.

Andris raised the Stinger, and the tonal lock bleated into his ear. But he did not fire. The transport chopper wasn’t their priority. He felt like a lamb under a wolf’s gaze, awaiting the creature’s pounce. Where was the attack chopper?

“The other one!” Andris said. “Where is it?”

Jenna swiveled on her heel. Leaning around the corner of the superstructure, she called back to them. “The other one is—”

Her voice drowned in a chainsaw-like roar. Rounds ripped past her, ricocheting off the deck and railing.

“It’s coming around this way!” she yelled, struggling to be heard over the din.

The machine-gun fire continued punching into the deck where Jenna had been moments ago. Andris and Terrence retreated to shelter. All the while, Andris maintained the Stinger’s aim where he expected the chopper to appear. It didn’t take long for the helicopter to make its way around the superstructure. Both machine guns under its stub wings spewed fire.

Andris waited for the tonal buzz of the Stinger to let him know that it had locked onto the chopper. Rounds crashed and sparked against the deck. The bullets slammed toward him, and he was forced to lower the Stinger, jumping back.

“Damn them to hell!” Andris cursed. “They will eat my missile, and they will like it!”

Leaning around the corner, he prepared to lift the Stinger again. Fingers wrapped around his shoulder and pulled him back.

“Don’t,” Terrence said. “It’ll rip you to shreds.”

“We got to find another way!” Jenna said.

Spurts of machine-gun fire pushed them back again. A hot vein of frustration exploded through Andris. He wanted so badly to see that chopper become a shroud of twisted metal. Explosives were his thing. Whether it was to gain entry through a locked door or bring down a Titan, a loud bang and a ball of fire was the way to do it.

“We must split up,” Andris said.

“Right,” Terrence said. “I’ll distract it. You fire when they’re looking at me.”

“You will be risking very much,” Andris said. “Are you sure? We can retreat and—”

“And what?” Jenna asked. “They already tore up the stern. The attackers are swarming the cargo bay. It’s got to be now.”

“Let me do this,” Terrence said.

“Fine,” Andris said. “Do it!”

Terrence turned, shouldered his rifle, and took shelter, pressing himself into an alcove. “Go!”

Andris ran. His muscles burned. He raced faster than he ever had in his life. What Terrence was doing was foolish. It was crazy. But it was also necessary.

Andris understood this. They had no other choice. At least that was what he told himself. In his heart, he knew Terrence was sacrificing himself for the good of the others. He had done so in order for Andris to take his shot—a chance he could not waste.

The throaty blast of machine-gun fire rent the air once more. Terrence’s rifle answered with a shrill report. Once again, Andris raised the Stinger. Before he could catch the chopper in his sight, rockets jetted from it again.

“Terrence!” Andris called over the comms.

Fire plumed over the other side of the superstructure, and smoke filled the air. There was no response over the comm link. And before Andris could adjust his aim, before he could swivel to get a lock on the chopper, it twisted away from the wreckage. Andris never got another chance to call for Terrence. The bird responded first.

Machine-gun rounds tore into the deck and superstructure near him. Shrapnel slashed at his body and face, slicing at him like so many tiny daggers, tearing and cutting. Pain burned through his flesh as the chopper chased him and Jenna. He knew his life was in jeopardy. So were the lives of the rest of the crew and the innocents belowdecks. He could not fail. If Terrence was already dead because Andris had been too slow, something more terrifying than death would haunt him: the knowledge that Dom had trusted him to do this, and yet he had failed.

He stopped, even as gunfire chewed the deck around him.

The chopper had to be taken down. There were no other choices.

“Andris!” Jenna yelled when she saw what he was doing.

“I must do this.” He shouldered the Stinger and leveled the targeting reticule at the chopper. The helicopter came at him. But he did not back away. Bullets plunged into metal as the chopper adjusted its aim. This time, he kept the Stinger aimed until the tone buzzed, indicating a lock.

He fired.

There was barely time for him to exhale. A wave of heat blasted over him, and a concussive force lifted him from his feet, tossing him backward into the railing. His ears rang, and hot debris pelted him. He tried to recover and steady himself, reaching for the Stinger in case the chopper was still somehow airborne. But he had dropped the weapon. He blinked and peered past the acrid clouds of oily smoke. The Stinger had fallen to the deck below, precariously teetering over the gunwale.

The helicopter was nothing but a crippled beast. Its wreckage careened toward the superstructure, spinning out of control. It slammed into the metal plating. Rotor blades fractured and tore, whirling like deadly dervishes through the air. Andris threw himself to the deck and crawled toward where Jenna had taken shelter. Metal shrapnel pounded all around him. Finally, the whine of the chopper’s engines was replaced by the victorious crackle of flames.

“Andris, you okay?” Jenna asked.

“I am quite peachy,” he said. Sweat trickled across his forehead, and he wiped it away from his eyes. “What about Terrence?”

Jenna’s face went pale.

-5-

The sounds of battle set Lauren’s nerves on fire. She counted the seconds after each explosion and barrage of gunfire, waiting for those fateful words over the comm link. Casualty! We need medical assistance. Divya stood next to her, her eyes constantly sweeping the hatch and bulkhead as if at any moment the walls might be breached.

“Reminds me of growing up in San Diego,” Lauren said.

Divya cocked her head. “Grew up in a bad neighborhood?”

“No, I’m talking about the earthquakes. There’s a feeling you get when you first sense the ground is shaking. Like a heavy truck rolling by on the street. Only it gets worse. And you keep waiting to see if your home is going to collapse, if this is the big one everyone’s been talking about. Your nerves just get more and more frayed until you feel about ready to scream. The tension is almost worse than the quake.”

“I know what you mean,” Divya said. “Like waiting for test results. I used to have patients who were in misery. No doctors could help them. And then when I told them their diagnosis, even if it was chronic—or worse, fatal—they would look almost relieved. As if I had provided them salvation.”

“Sometimes not knowing what’s waiting in the dark is worse than the actual monster you have to face,” Lauren said.

Divya merely nodded, chewing her bottom lip. More gunfire boomed through the belly of the ship. It sounded as if the battle was drawing closer, and the Hunters were losing ground.

But nothing compared to the blast that came next. Frantic voices chattered over the comms.

“Med team, this is Bravo,” Andris shouted through the comms. “We have a casualty. Terrence...he needs help now!”

“Copy, Bravo.” Lauren signaled Divya to get their emergency medical kits ready. Peter already had the OR prepped. “Are you bringing him down?”

“Negative, med team,” Andris said. “Terrence cannot be moved by us. He is bleeding out. Mangled limbs. We will need at least three of you.”

The deep pit in Lauren’s stomach threatened to swallow her. Sean had been listening in on the comms from his position near the OR. “Sean, Divya, let’s go,” she said.

The trio burst out of the med bay’s hatch, carrying a stretcher. The sound of a skirmish echoed through the corridor. They surged up the ladders toward the superstructure. An empty corridor led to the hatch where Bravo team had made their stand.

Her entire career had been spent in labs and clinics up until Dom recruited her. Even then, she had spent most of her time on the ship, rarely leaving it for the field except in the direst of situations. But even when she had helped rescue civilians on a boat taken over by Skulls, she had never actually been this close to combat.

Divya, on the other hand, had served in Doctors Without Borders. Now Lauren looked to the younger woman for reassurance. But even Divya’s nut-brown eyes were wide, and her fingers trembled. Sean, an epidemiologist more at home in the lab than anywhere else in the Huntress, looked positively terrified.

“Bravo,” Lauren called over her comm link. “We’re at the hatch. Is it clear?”

“Negative,” Jenna called back. “The Mi-8 is still pestering us. They got a couple of gunners posted now.”

“Then we’ve got to move Terrence,” Lauren said.

“One moment,” Andris replied.

“Just tell us when,” Lauren replied.

For several seconds, she waited, ready to dart through the hatch and retrieve Terrence.

“Go!” Andris said.

Lauren and Divya leapt through the hatch and dashed around the corner. She stopped. A heavy weight spread through Lauren’s limbs, making her movements sluggish. She understood now why Andris and Jenna hadn’t been able to drag Terrence to the hatch. The man lay in a pile of twisted metal splattered in red and black. There was no path to drag Terrence through the wreckage. Lauren was forced to leave the stretcher.

“Here!” Jenna said, throwing her rifle over her back. Sean leapt over to her. Divya hurdled over the warped bits of rail and deck, with Lauren coming in last.

Terrence was a mess. There was no other possible way to describe him. Lauren pressed two fingers to his neck, feeling a quickly fading pulse. Blood pooled around his mangled legs.

“Sean, Divya, tourniquets now,” Lauren commanded.

She checked Terrence over for any other critical wounds. Thankfully, his torso was in better shape than his lower limbs. The duo slowed the bleeding as much as possible. Normally, Lauren would work with the utmost care to lift someone injured like this. Shifting them too roughly might leave them with permanent paralysis, if they survived the move at all. But time was a luxury they did not have.

“I am returning,” Andris said. “I can no longer keep the chopper back.”

Machine-gun fire ripped through the air amid the thunder of the chopper blades.

“Go!” Lauren said. They lifted Terrence over the wreckage and through the hatch then placed him on the stretcher.

“Keep the door open!” Andris yelled over the comms. Moments later, the crash of gunfire chased him through the doorway. He slammed the hatch shut behind him as bullets punched into the metal. “Thank you.”

Down the ladders they plunged, back into the depths of the Huntress. Lauren’s mind whirred, making a mental checklist of all the steps that would come next. Peter would begin staunching the bleeding and tying off vessels. They’d administer anesthesia to ensure Terrence stayed unconscious as they catalogued his wounds and cleaned up what they could.

But one thing already seemed apparent from her cursory examination. If Terrence survived this, it wouldn’t be with working legs.

Keeping Terrence alive would take the focus of all four med team members, and as they began to work on him, Lauren counted herself lucky to have such talented team members. But if there was another casualty, another injury even half as bad as Terrence’s, the team would be stretched too thin.

Andris and Jenna ran back out into the battle to help the others.

***

Meredith fired at the next bastard that dared show his head in the cargo bay. She and the others had been pushed back, and the cargo bay was completely taken over by the attackers. They had fought for every inch the attackers took, but their defenses had been shattered by the stun grenade.

She cursed herself for falling prey to such a simple trick.

It had been too long since she’d been out in the field. Too long since she’d faced humans and not dumb Skulls. Even in the Congo, they had held all the advantages when they took the FGL facility by surprise. Being on the defensive like this was not something she enjoyed.

Another soldier charged their position. Meredith fired, but he slid into cover too soon. Once the attackers had figured out where Meredith, Miguel, Glenn, and Spencer had been, they had operated with utter professionalism, sweeping the room and covering one another with marked precision.

It felt to Meredith as if Alpha were trying to hold back the ocean tide from crashing on the beach.

And bit by bit, they were being forced back, continuously on their heels to recover from being flanked. Every time Meredith had to retreat, it physically pained her. She hated ceding ground to those bastards.

“Alpha, Bravo,” Andris called over the comm link. “How are you holding out?”

“We’re through the hatch,” Miguel said. “Get your lazy asses down here!”

“We will do the best we can,” Andris said. “There is another helicopter to take out.”

Then another voice boomed over the comms.

“Bravo, you just worry about helping Alpha,” Dom said. There was an edge to his voice that Meredith doubted anyone else would notice. But they didn’t know him as well as she did. He no doubt wanted to be where his people were, delving into the fray beside them. But his injury was holding him back. He’d be little more than a limping target. Even Dom knew his limits. “Thomas and I will take the remaining bird ourselves.”

Well, I take that back, Meredith thought. Maybe he doesn’t know his limits.

“Copy,” Andris responded.

“Alpha, just hold out a little longer down there,” Dom said.

“We’re doing the best we can, Chief,” Miguel said, his voice sounding strained.

Meredith fired at another advancing soldier. She thought she caught him in the leg. But the man still fired back. These people were like robots. If they hadn’t managed a successful ambush on the first squad, she might’ve even believed these people weren’t actually human.

Then shouts echoed throughout the chamber. A sudden burst of gunfire exploded from the positions she had been tracking.

She had thought the attackers were pressing them before. She was wrong.

Incoming salvos tore through the air. Over and over, Meredith tried to fire back. But each time she attempted any kind of defense, she was beaten by return fire. Something had made the attackers restless. Maybe even desperate. She wondered if it was the fact that two of their choppers had already gone down. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter right now. What mattered was surviving—and keeping the rest of the crew safe.

The attackers continued their onslaught, gaining on Alpha team. Soon, Meredith was posted up in an alcove leading off from the main corridor. Behind her were the med bay and the electronics workshop. Miguel was sheltered across from her, his face wrought in determination, the same as she felt. They could give no more ground. If they gave anything defending these last few feet, it would be their lives.

The attackers spilled into the corridor, breaking from cover and coming at Alpha team like rabid dogs. A couple went down in a wall of lead, bullet holes riddling their bodies. But more stayed on their feet.

Meredith swung her rifle at one man barreling toward her. The soldier ducked under her aim and tried to fire. Within striking distance, Meredith reacted by instinct, slamming her rifle down onto his. What had once been a gunfight devolved into close, bloody combat. Fists and elbows flew. Meredith registered each hit with a kind of detached interest: pain in her ribs, a blow to her leg almost knocking her over.

The man she was fighting looked young, perhaps only half her age. But she would be damned if she let the arrogant bastard think his youthful strength was an advantage. She came down hard on him with an elbow to his Adam’s apple then swept his legs out from under him. The man thrashed on his back as she held him down, still flailing and pummeling. Daring to lift a hand off him, she retrieved her knife and planted it in his throat.

Her attacker no longer moved.

Other scenes of struggle played out along the corridor as Miguel was backed into a corner, lashing out with the concealed blade in his prosthetic. Spencer and Glenn did their best to batter the men coming after them. But as Meredith blinked past the blood dripping into her eyes, she saw more soldiers spill into the corridor. The rest of the attackers had arrived.

She scrambled to recover her rifle. Everything seemed to happen in milliseconds as she leveled the weapon, ready to die firing as a storm of bullets tore into her. At least she could stop some of them here. Maybe it would let Glenn and Miguel and Spencer survive to push the bastards back out.

Then a miraculous thing happened. One of the men paused and pointed his rifle back into the cargo hold. There was a moment of confusion as she wondered what he was aiming at.

That question was quickly answered by a flurry of gunfire. The man who had paused dropped to the ground, bleeding out from wounds to his neck and thigh. The others slumped forward under deliberate, careful shots.

More figures strode into the corridor. This time Meredith grinned. “Goddammit, Andris. Next time, give a girl a little more warning.”

“I did not want to give anything away,” he replied. “The element of surprise was needed.”

The group made short work of the remaining attackers. Not a single one offered to surrender, even when there was only one man left. Meredith almost felt a shred of pity for the man when he went down under Miguel’s blade.

Almost, but not quite.

Despite their success down here, still the engines of a chopper above deck rumbled, accompanied by the bark of machine-gun fire.

Meredith looked at Andris, shaking her head. “These bastards don’t give up, do they?”

-6-

Dom hated being nothing more than a witness to his crew’s efforts to defend the ship. The best he could do from the bridge was to manage the teams as they fought off the attackers. Now that Bravo team had finally destroyed the attack helicopter and reinforced Alpha, there was only the transport chopper left.

“Why aren’t they running?” Thomas asked.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Dom said. Gunners on the chopper swept the deck. “Bravo and Alpha eliminated their fire squads. They should be turning tail...unless they’re planning something else.”

“Christ,” Thomas said. “You think they’re keeping an eye on us? Making sure we don’t escape so they know where to send reinforcements?”

“It’s either that, or—” Dom focused his binos on the fuselage. There were four men working hurriedly on something he couldn’t quite see. Maybe a bomb? He cursed. “They might just want to finish us off.”

“Then we better finish ’em first.”

Dom performed a quick calculation in his head. Alpha and Bravo were both in the cargo hold. Directly below the bridge was the armory. Andris had lost the Stinger he had used to bring the attack chopper down, so they needed to retrieve another, make it back to the deck, and take out the chopper before it unloaded whatever it was those people were working on.

“We’ve got to take that bird down,” Dom said. He started rushing down the ladders with Thomas hot on his heels. “Alpha, Bravo, our friends in the sky have something planned for us. I have a feeling they want a little revenge for their fallen comrades. Get everyone into their quarters.” Dom huffed as he ran down the ladders. Each step sent pain shuddering through his torn muscles. Warm blood began to seep from his wound and soak into his fatigues.

“We can take down the chopper,” Miguel shot back. “Give us a few minutes to get back to the armory and—”

“No,” Dom said. “Thomas and I will take care of it. We’re closer. You just make sure everyone is safe.”

Thomas sprinted ahead and disappeared into the armory before Dom could even reach it. He returned with a fresh Stinger and a pair of missiles. The ladders nearest them took them back to the promenade deck. They exited the hatch onto the ruined deck, wind and rotor wash whipping past them. Dom loaded the Stinger, and Thomas inserted the battery coolant unit. Then Dom knelt and took the weapon from Thomas.

“We make quite the pair of old fogeys,” Thomas said as he helped Dom stand.

“Speak for yourself,” Dom said.

Using a Stinger was usually a two-person job. One man worked as a spotter to locate targets, and the other operated the weapon. But with the chopper drifting just past the bow of the Huntress, there was no need for Thomas to tell Dom where to fire.

All the same, Thomas pointed. “Just in case you forgot your glasses, the bastards you want to shoot are just over there.”

“Helpful as always,” Dom said. He activated the missile and sucked in a deep breath. Not because it would help his aim. The heat-seeking missile was incredibly forgiving, and all Dom needed to do was get a lock on his target. But he had one shot before they noticed what he and Thomas were doing.

Dom centered the aiming reticle over the helicopter. A steady lock-on tone buzzed in his ear.

Goodbye.

A squeeze of the trigger later, and the missile erupted from the barrel, lancing out at the chopper like an angry hornet defending its nest.

There was no time to launch flares. No time to dodge the incoming warhead. It was a perfect shot. A wave of fire enveloped one of the turbine engines, and the chopper lurched sideways. Flames spurted from the other turbine. The concussion threw one of the gunners out of the bird.

Somehow, the chopper was still in the air. Dom reached for the second missile and plunged it into the Stinger. It seemed that even in their death throes, the crew of that chopper was intent on finishing whatever it was they had started.

The Stinger’s maximum range was over twenty-five thousand feet. But the minimum effective range was six hundred and sixty feet. Too close, and the missile wouldn’t have a chance to adjust its course. The shrapnel from the blast would be devastating to him and Thomas.

Heat blazed over Dom. He couldn’t tell how close the transport chopper was now. Maybe it was foolish to fire again—suicidal, even. But his crew’s lives depended on him. His finger tightened on the trigger, and the second missile blasted into the air.

A flash of fire and light spread through the sky. The concussive force slammed into Dom and sucked the breath from his lungs. He fell backward, fresh pain shredding through his leg. His vision blurred, and his ears rang.

But as he pushed himself up from the deck, he saw the helicopter lose control and veer away. It tilted sideways as flames fanned from the fuselage and engines. Then something fell from the one of the open side doors, past where the gunner had been. It looked to Dom like a metal barrel.

Is that the bomb? Dom wondered as it plunged into the ocean. The helicopter flew on for a few extra seconds, careening away from the ship’s path. At last, it slammed into the water. The ocean hungrily pulled the helicopter under the crashing waves, squelching the fires and dragging the helicopter into the murky depths.

Dom’s chest heaved as he recovered his breath. He wanted to feel a swell of victory, but it never came. They had won the day, but there was no one left to ask the important questions. Where had they come from? Why had they come here?

And perhaps most frightening of all, how had they found the Huntress?

“Cliff,” he called to the bridge. “Put the ship into full stop!”

***

Meredith still had her rifle strapped over her back. Sweat matted her fatigues to her body, but there wasn’t time to clean up. She wanted to know the same things Dom did.

“We’ve got to find out who they were and how they found us,” she said.

Around the table in the electronics workshop, Dom, Chao, Samantha, and Thomas were assembled, all just as disheveled as she was. Lauren and the medical crew were still operating on Terrence, and from what she’d heard, that would occupy them for the next few hours. The other Hunters were helping the engineers and ship maintenance crew clean up. They had barely managed to patch the damage they’d withstood from the Coast Guard’s assault back in the Chesapeake, and now the ship was riddled with new scars. The men they’d faced had been well trained and well armed.

Dom nodded. “This is no random group of militants like the one we confronted back in Virginia. It has to be the FGL.”

“We were able to calculate some potential flight trajectories,” Chao said. He tapped a button on his computer. The multi-paneled screen at the front of the workshop modeled the data they had recorded from their radar readings. It showed a fairly linear path. But even to Meredith’s untrained eyes, the data left much to be desired. “Unfortunately, we didn’t detect them until too late. We’ve only got about fifty nautical miles of reconstruction here. The Mil Mi-8 choppers typically have a flight range in the neighborhood of four hundred nautical miles. That means they could’ve come from anywhere in this field.”

Most of what Chao had highlighted was ocean interspersed with islands. The projected range included parts of Morocco, Portugal, and Spain, but those locations were at the very edge of the range—a very dangerous proposition to launch a bird with limited fuel.

“I don’t think I need to say it,” Samantha said, her fingers wrapped tightly around an energy drink, “but whoever launched those choppers might’ve done so from a ship.”

“Agreed,” Dom said. “There’s something else bothering me about those choppers. I recognized the Russian-made Mi-8 birds, but the attack chopper...that was something else entirely.”

“Correct,” Chao said. “We identified it from some of the images you obtained. It’s an Iranian HESA Shahed 285.”

“That jibes with our suspicions that an Iranian group decided to support the FGL,” Thomas said.

“Maybe,” Meredith said. Something didn’t sit right with her. She mulled it over for a moment, absently massaging a sore bicep. Then a cold horror crept through her. “It’s been a while since I was at Langley, but I’ve never heard of an Iranian base in this area. And I doubt any of the countries you mentioned would allow a squadron of Iranian choppers to park on their turf.”

Dom’s expression tightened. He seemed to understand exactly what she was implying.

“We toyed with the idea before,” Meredith said, “but if the Iranians and Russians, through the FGL, already have ships or bases operating around here, that proves they’re taking over in the power vacuum left behind by the Oni Agent outbreak.”

“Those bastards move fast,” Thomas said.

“Add this to the list of things Kinsey needs to know,” Dom said. “Chao, Samantha, any other ideas on where these guys came from?”

“Short of resurrecting the dead guys in the cargo bay to ask ’em,” Samantha said, “I got nothing. With those choppers on the sea floor, we can’t exactly pick apart their FMS or FDS, either.”

“Flight management system and flight data systems,” Chao clarified. “Both record all kinds of information like flight plans and navigation data. Basically, if we find one intact, we can find out where these choppers came from.”

Samantha grinned. “You know, a black box.”

“Then we have to do that,” Meredith said. “We have no other choice.”

“Only problem is we lost one of those helicopters miles from the ship,” Thomas said. “The other two are on the bottom of the seafloor. The computers are going to be waterlogged. I’m not a geek, but isn’t that a bad thing?”

Samantha shrugged. “A little water isn’t a huge problem. These things are built for crashes in all kinds of environments.”

Dom looked more uncertain than the others. “Sure, civilian craft have black boxes, but not all military craft do.”

“True,” Thomas said. He massaged the gray stubble along his chin. “And even if they do, that shit’s going to be encrypted.”

Samantha raised a brow. “So? You show me a locked door, I’ll make you a key.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Meredith said. “I mean, if we can get that kind of data, we’ll have a tremendous advantage.”

“Advantage?” Thomas shot her a dubious look. “I’m not sure I’d be that optimistic. These people tracked us in the middle of the ocean and attacked when we had our pants down. They’re still in the lead.”

“Then this gives us a chance to catch up,” Meredith said.

“You’re right, of course,” Dom said.

“Of course,” Meredith echoed.

“The only question is how do we retrieve that data.”

“That’s not really a question, though, is it?” Meredith asked with a sly grin.

Dom sighed. He ran a hand over his scalp, leaving it at the back of his neck. Meredith recognized that look. It was the moment he realized she was about to do something dangerous and that he had no right to stop her. “You’re really going to do this?”

“Absolutely,” Meredith said. “Look, I know this is a long shot. But the ocean shouldn’t be too deep around here. If we’re lucky, either the transport chopper or the attack chopper landed in the reef.”

Dom looked ready to argue with her, but he turned to Chao instead. “Get me a sonar read. I want to know where those choppers ended up.”

“You got it,” Chao said. He typed a few commands on his computer to take control of the Huntress’s sonar systems. The others waited in silence.

Tension tingled along Meredith’s spine. After the attack they’d just endured, they needed something to help them move forward, to figure out who those bastards belonged to and where they came from. Having just lost Renee in the Congo and with Terrence in the OR, his prognosis uncertain, the team needed a win.

The crew had changed since the outbreak. Each casualty cost them. Not just in terms of resources and personnel, but emotionally, too. The Hunters were still some of the bravest men and women she’d ever fought alongside. But even though Meredith was new to the team, she could see the fires behind their eyes begin to dim.

Dom and his crew had become more than just teammates in a covert ops group. They truly had become brothers and sisters, serving together in the face of overwhelming adversity with the lofty goal of stemming the changing tides of the apocalypse. She wondered how long those aspirations could sustain them. How much more they could endure before they broke.

They need this, Meredith thought. Then she considered her own role in this madness. How she still strived to fit in with the crew. How she felt the need to prove herself to the Hunters and show that she hadn’t grown weak and slow despite her time behind a desk at Langley.

I need this.

“There we go,” Chao said. “Got the two closest birds.” He clicked a button on his terminal, and the coordinates of the first showed on one of the monitors. “That’s the attack chopper, I believe.”

Meredith felt a stinging pang of disappointment. “Seventeen hundred feet.” Too deep for healthy SCUBA diving. Scientists weren’t exactly sure what the limits of oceanic pressure on the human body were, given a lack of willing test subjects, but it was pretty well accepted that diving that deep without specialized equipment was a substantial risk. The last thing Meredith wanted was to die alone in the underwater darkness with her lungs bleeding out.

“We don’t happen to have a sub on the ship I don’t know about, do we?”

“That’s a hard negative,” Dom said.

“The second chopper is in a better location,” Chao said. He clicked a button, and the approximate coordinates and depths of the transport helicopter appeared on the screen. “If this is right, it’s only a hundred and twenty feet.”

“I can handle that,” Meredith said. “I used to do hundred-foot dives for fun. Some pretty interesting wrecks around the Florida Keys at that depth.”

“You sure about this?” Dom asked.

“The last time I went SCUBA diving, it was to get this ship back from a bunch of armed coasties in the middle of the night. This will be nothing in comparison.”

“You need someone to go with you,” Dom said ruefully. She understood why. He would gladly volunteer. But diving with a wound like his would be an impediment to the both of them. He still noticeably struggled when he walked, and Meredith could see the little winces and grimaces even when he tried to hide them.

The obvious choice for a diving buddy would be one of the former SEALs on the crew. A knot formed in Meredith’s stomach when she realized both the Hunters who had been SEALs—Hector and Owen—had already paid the ultimate price fighting the Oni Agent. That left one other option with the skillset necessary for what they were about to do.

Andris was a jack-of-all-trades, having specialized in one of the engineering regiments of the French Foreign Legion. It was there he’d been trained in everything from skydiving to underwater demolitions and even dabbled in sniping. That had made Andris a valuable member of the crew, and Meredith had already teamed up with him on previous missions. He was the obvious choice.

“You game?” she asked him.

He gave a little shrug. “I do not have anything else planned.”

“Then it’s done,” Dom said.

In a matter of minutes, Meredith and Andris were sitting at the prow of the Zodiac. Miguel sat at the tiller, and Jenna helped them prepare their tanks, gauges, and buoyancy-control devices. Meredith tightened the sheath with her dive knife onto her thigh. Even recreational divers carried them. If you became entangled in a fishing line, which was a strangely common occurrence, it was a lifesaver.

The Zodiac bobbed over the waves. Water sprayed over Meredith’s face as she stared forward, her fingers wrapped around the rope tracing the gunwale. The storm front rose before them in a southeasterly direction. She hoped it stayed on more of an eastward vector than south, skimming them instead of slamming into them. It was not that the rain would matter when they were underwater. But the last thing she wanted was to be bobbing in the open ocean with Andris, far adrift from the Zodiac and the Huntress, because of some storm-driven swell.

The gurgle of the Zodiac soon settled as Miguel slowed the boat. He circled a spot for a moment, staring at his GPS. “This should be it. You two ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Meredith said.

“Remind me to thank you for volunteering me for this mission,” Andris said, adjusting the straps to his dive mask before slipping it over his face. “You owe me a very big favor for this one.”

“Come on,” Meredith said, securing her mask. “Think of this like a vacation. Nothing but a recreational dive to see the fish.”

“The last time somebody told me I was going to see the fishes at the bottom of the sea, they weren’t talking about diving.”

With that, Andris put in his regulator and tossed himself overboard. Meredith followed.

Into the abyss they dove.

-7-

Dom waited with Thomas, Chao, and Samantha at the table in the electronics workshop. The buzz of machinery droned on as they shared a moment of silence. Each contemplated the question hanging over them like precarious boulders just before an avalanche.

How did those people find us? How could they possibly have known where the Huntress was with enough certainty to launch an attack?

“Maybe they hacked us,” Thomas said.

“No freaking way, man,” Samantha said. “I would’ve noticed.”

Thomas raised a brow. “Kinsey’s people got into our systems before. You two practically let him in. Why would it be so hard to believe the FGL got access?”

At that, Samantha looked sheepish and stared at the back of her hands.

Chao shook his head vehemently. “No, we’ve been extraordinarily vigilant since then. Every outgoing and incoming signal from our comms, every bit of data we’ve transferred. We’ve kept to the strictest protocols of data segregation and quarantine for the files we pulled off the FGL labs in the Congo.”

“We’re clean,” Samantha said, her hands wide in an imploring gesture.

“Where does that leave us? Maybe one of the civilians or a crew member is privately radioing off our coordinates to Spitkovsky’s goons,” Thomas said.

“Hell no,” Samantha said.

Back and forth, they threw ideas at each other. Their voices rose with each point and counterpoint, the tension rising between them like a nuclear reactor going into meltdown. They were letting their emotions get the better of them. Letting frustration rule. These were smart people. They weren’t used to being fooled like this.

Dom needed to do something to defuse the situation. But his own thoughts were in turmoil. Half his focus was on Meredith, worrying about her mission. He felt as if he were wandering through the woods, looking for an exit.

Then he saw a hint of light in the distance. A possible answer.

Something about the attackers’ actions still didn’t sit right. Maybe they were looking at this problem in the wrong way. Looking at it backwards, even.

“Look, I’m just saying maybe something else got through,” Thomas said. “Maybe when you were downloading all that shit from the FGL’s labs, you hoovered up something you shouldn’t have.”

“How many times do I have to say it?” Samantha asked, her face red. “Nothing dangerous came in those files. The FGL don’t know shit about computers. If their cyber-warfare tactics are anything like their security, they’re the equivalent of a caveman throwing rocks at a tank.”

Chao sighed. “I’m not trying to throw us under the bus, but what if they were just honey-potting? Maybe they knew we were going to tap into their network, and they made it easy for us to sap their servers so we would syphon off some kind of tracking program.”

“Et tu, Brute? Et tu?” Samantha said, shaking her head. “If that was the case, they could have scrambled all of our systems. Why would they leave the ship functional, especially in an attack? Besides, I haven’t detected any outgoing messages or signals that we didn’t send. I’m telling you, we’re clean.”

Then something clicked in Dom’s head. “There’s no Trojan Horse on board. Nothing infected our comms.”

Something in him shifted as realization poured through like sunlight after a storm. Think backwards, he said to himself again. What was it that the boarding party had been after? If they had wanted to simply destroy the ship, they could have done so from the sky.

In fact, they might be planning to do that now that their mission to retrieve their target had failed. That made identifying how they were tracking the Huntress absolutely critical.

“Let’s break this down,” Dom said. “They didn’t come here to simply kill us. That would’ve been easier. Somehow they knew we had exactly what they were looking for. Something pretty damned important. They knew we had it, and they knew where we were.”

Thomas’s eyes brightened. “Damn that old man. They tagged him, didn’t they?”

“Right,” Dom said. “They wouldn’t want someone like that to just slip from their grasp.”

At once Dom saw the same realization pour through Chao and Samantha’s expressions.

“You mean the Japanese dude is microchipped like a puppy?” Samantha asked.

Dom nodded grimly. They hadn’t brought back much from the lab in the Congo, but what they had managed to retrieve was absolutely vital to the FGL’s mission.

“Let’s throw the bastard overboard,” Thomas offered. “Easiest solution. Guy deserves a watery grave.”

“I’d feel sorry for the fish that eat him,” Samantha said.

“You both know we can’t do that,” Dom said, although an angry voice at the back of his head told him Samantha and Thomas weren’t wrong. Heaving Matsumoto overboard like so much flotsam was too kind a fate for the man. “But we need him alive. We have to find out what he knows.”

“The guy was out of his goddamned mind last time you talked to him,” Thomas said. “Maybe he’s gone senile. You think he actually has a shot at recovering?”

“He definitely won’t recover if he drowns in the middle of the Atlantic,” Chao said.

“Exactly,” Dom said. “Besides, what if we throw him overboard and the FGL still track us down? We’ll have killed Matsumoto for nothing. That’d be a huge opportunity to learn something that could change the course of this war gone because we acted too hastily. I want to find out if he’s chipped or tagged or whatever, see if it was through him they were tracking us, and keep the old man alive.”

The others nodded. If Matsumoto wasn’t tagged, if there was a bug somewhere else on this ship, they would have to go over every square inch of the Huntress. Every bulkhead, every deck. All their cargo. Maybe even the air ducts and lab air filtration systems. All before Spitkovsky sent another wave of attackers.

At the moment, exhausted as he was, the task seemed almost as daunting as stopping the goddamned Oni Agent from turning the world into Skulls.

“Chao, Samantha, I want you to ensure Spitkovsky hasn’t compromised our computer systems,” Dom commanded. “Thomas, have anyone not performing repairs to critical ship systems start the search for physical bugs on the ship.” He stood. “I’m going to go brief the medical team.”

“If something is embedded in Matsumoto,” Samantha said, a wicked grin on her lips, “can you promise Lauren won’t use painkillers when she digs it out?”

-8-

The OR was normally cooler than the rest of the ship, but sweat was trickling down Lauren’s forehead and stinging her eyes. She resisted the urge to wipe it away. It wouldn’t do much good except for smearing Terrence’s blood across her mask. Heat swelled under her operating gown. It wasn’t just a result of the intense lights or Divya and Peter crammed in beside her.

Terrence’s wounds were some of the worst that she had seen. His pulse was weak, and parts of him were simply so much shredded meat. But despite all the odds, it seemed as if he would pull through. Lauren’s role in helping suture his vessels was almost over. Peter had taken control of the OR like the master surgeon he was. He wasn’t the easiest man to get along with. His arrogance tended to seep into his everyday conversation and interactions, and it wasn’t always pleasant. But in the OR, that confidence was an asset. There was no deliberation, no waffling about for answers. Only action.

There was no doubt in Lauren’s mind that Peter had saved Terrence’s life. His skill was unparalleled. Each member of the team brought their own immense strengths. Divya, with her deep knowledge of rare and tropical diseases complementing her internal medicine abilities. Sean, with his epidemiological education and ability to translate what they discovered in the laboratory to real-world results. And without doting on her own ego too much, Lauren tied the team together with a rich scientific background in the CDC coupled with her breadth of general medicine experience. Everyone had a vital role to play in this skeleton crew.

“He’s going to live,” Peter said without any air of drama.

Divya breathed a sigh of relief. The surgery wasn’t done yet, but they could see their exit on the highway. They had already completed the most dangerous parts of the procedure.

Their success had come at a tremendous cost. Terrence had lost both his legs.

They had had no other choice. The limbs were so damaged as to be impossible to repair. There simply was so little left that wasn’t charred or shredded. It had been a grisly sight.

She already dreaded telling him what they had been forced to do when he woke. It wasn’t just about the missing legs, but what it meant for his future. The potential follow-up surgeries. The months of rehabilitation and pain. And the part she knew he would take the hardest: he could no longer serve as a Hunter in the field. At least, not anytime in the near future, and not without sophisticated prosthetics.

“He’s going to need more help than we can provide.” Lauren was now cleaning some of the less demanding wounds. “Unless anyone has any better ideas, I think he needs to go back with Shepherd. A military hospital will be able to treat him better than we can.”

“As long as they don’t treat him like a prisoner,” Peter said.

“It’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Lauren replied. “This medical bay has been stressed as it is. We were never built to care for long-term patients. Emergency medical procedures, quarantine for bioweapon infections...but Terrence is going to need more work to keep what he has left of his legs.” She glanced down. Just about half of his thighs remained. “He needs a proper facility for limb salvage, pain management, physical rehab, and a prosthetist. This is beyond any of our skills.”

“He’s as good as dead if they still think we’re part of this Oni Agent madness,” Peter said, pulling a suture through a loop. “Should we condemn the man by sending him away? At least here he’ll be alive.”

“If he doesn’t get the help he needs now, then think about what we’re sentencing him to. Think about the quality of his life if he’s in constant pain. Think about if we can’t get him mobile again. Peter, you’re good at what you do, but even you have to admit we can’t do this.”

Peter let out a long exhalation, his brow crinkling. “You’re the leader.”

“It’s not that I want to wash our hands of him,” Lauren said.

“I agree with Lauren,” Divya said. “He needs better care than we can give.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. Lauren couldn’t tell if it was because he still strongly disagreed with them or because he was focused on his work. “I know you’ll do what’s best for him.”

I will, Lauren thought. But Peter did bring up an important point. They would be taking a risk sending Terrence back to the United States. She recalled how Shepherd had been treated. He’d been thrown in a cell and waterboarded for his association with the Hunters. She hoped they could establish better relationships with Kinsey now that they had hard evidence proving their innocence. But even a verbal agreement with the general didn’t mean much in the way of assurances. This whole war had been a charade of shadowy operations and distrust.

Before Lauren had a chance to say anything else, the hatch to the med bay slammed open. Dom stood there by himself and pointed at Terrence through the acrylic partition. She mouthed, “He’ll live.”

Relief washed across Dom’s face. But the expression didn’t last long. He strode toward the OR and clicked the button to activate the chamber’s intercom system.

“I don’t want to distract you from your work, but I’ve got another urgent task.”

“What’s the issue?” Lauren asked, dabbing at the blood along Terrence’s torso as she continued to clean his wounds.

“Matsumoto might have a chip or something implanted in him. We think Spitkovsky was using it to track us.”

“Seriously?” Lauren asked.

“Seriously.” Dom pressed a palm against the partition. “If I’m right and the FGL is tracking us through him, we’ve got to find out how to stop it.”

Lauren hesitated. She didn’t want to leave Terrence.

“We can’t withstand another attack,” Dom said. “And you can bet the last one was just probing for weaknesses. Next time, we won’t be so lucky.”

Divya and Peter looked up at Lauren as if waiting for her to reply. There was no way Peter could take a break to search for the tracker. Lauren, however, was performing duties anyone trained in basic first aid could handle at this point. And besides, Divya had far more emergency medical training than her.

Lauren left the operating table. She stripped off her operating gown and gloves as she exited the chamber. With the back of her hand, she mopped the perspiration dripping down her forehead.

“What exactly am I looking for?” Lauren said, leading Dom to Matsumoto’s bedside. “Is this like one of those microchips you put in a pet?”

Dom shook his head. “Chao says that type of chip is too small to allow active tracking. What we’re looking for would be bigger.” He held his fingers, counting off each attribute. “It’s got to have a battery, an antenna, and a GPS module. We’re talking something at least the size of a house key.”

“I’m guessing if Spitkovsky was worried about losing him, it won’t be easy to find.” Lauren let out a long breath. “I might need your help in this.”

“Whatever you need.”

Matsumoto still slumbered. It was still difficult to believe that this man, skinny and ancient as he was, had been responsible for the original development of the Oni Agent. For just a moment, she wondered how intelligent he must have been—probably still was—to have developed the original iteration of the Oni Agent so many decades ago. If only he had devoted his intellect to something to benefit humanity instead of destroying it.

She pulled the sheet back from Matsumoto’s body. His wrinkled skin hung off his body as if it were another sheet she could remove.

“If they implanted something like that in him, then maybe we can find a surgical scar. It would require a small incision point.”

“Understood,” Dom said.

Lauren probed at the old man’s leathery skin, searching for even a hint of hard scar tissue. The man had been around the world long enough to accumulate a history book’s worth of scars and scrapes. But most were signs of unintentional injury, often in odd locations or on his hands, where a transmitter couldn’t be concealed. She searched methodically, but his abdomen and limbs seemed clear.

“Help me turn him over,” Lauren said. She showed Dom how to lift the man gently, placing him on his side so he could still breathe. As he held him there, she searched his back.

There it is, she thought. A perfect surgical incision covered in tough white tissue. Poking at the skin, she felt a hard nodule. Something jutted out where no bone should be.

“I think I found it,” she said.

“Where?” Dom asked.

“Right at the base of his skull.”

***

Dom tapped his fingers along the table in the electronics workshop. He had moved his temporary headquarters here as a kind of mission control for his crew. Not a single one of them was doing something they had planned for today. This morning, he had assumed they would be sailing toward Lajes as usual, arriving tomorrow, and maybe enduring a bit of rain.

But the day’s plans had changed. Dom should’ve learned by now that the only constant was change. The key to surviving the apocalypse was to always, as cliché as it sounded, expect the unexpected.

Meredith was descending toward the helicopter wreck. Lauren was prepping Matsumoto for surgery. Samantha and Chao were at their stations, still sifting through the Huntress’s computer systems. The rest of the crew was scouring the ship for bugs.

A knock at the hatch caused Dom to turn. Shepherd entered. He wore extra civilian clothes Dom had had on hand. But there was no mistaking him for anything other than a military man. The expression on his face and the rhythm of his gait exuded confidence.

“Something on your mind?” Dom asked.

“How can I help?” Shepherd asked. “I’m sitting here watching your crew work their asses off. The last thing I want to be is a buffet-binging cruise ship passenger.”

“No one thinks of you that way.”

Shepherd sat in one of the chairs across from Dom, steepling his fingers. “Look, I’m having second thoughts about leaving you all at Lajes. It seems to me like you’ll need every man you can get out here. I think our naval cadets could be convinced to stay, too.”

“We’ve handled ourselves on our own this far. You’ll be more useful Stateside.”

“You’ve lost several crew members since this started.” Dom winced. Several was an understatement. “Your man Terrence doesn’t look like he’s going to be in fighting condition. I may have graduated to desk duty back at Detrick, but I know which direction to point a gun.”

There was more truth to Shepherd’s statement than Dom liked to admit.

“Truth is, adding you and the midshipmen to the crew would be treating a symptom, not a cause,” Dom said. “We could even go back to the Congo and recruit Alizia and the rest of her people or bring in a few of Ronaldo’s at Lajes. All that’d do is keep this ship alive a little longer.

“But what we really need is to get you back to the States. We need someone who can be a diplomat for us. Someone who knows what we can do. Right now, it feels like we’re singlehandedly carrying on this fight. It shouldn’t be like that.”

“I can understand that.” Shepherd paused. “You’re headed into the dragon’s den—you do know that? That attack to take back Matsumoto wasn’t just a haphazard mission. Those were some fine pieces of machinery. The soldiers were nothing to balk at, either. We barely held those bastards back.”

Dom didn’t need Shepherd to repeat what he had already told Lauren. They likely couldn’t survive another attack, especially if the Forces of Global Liberation returned with a larger boarding party. He tried to convince himself there wouldn’t be another attack. Once Lauren removed the tracking device from Matsumoto, they would be safe.

But he wouldn’t make that mistake again, thinking they had outfoxed their enemy. They had done that once, and it had resulted in Terrence losing his legs.

“You’re probably right,” Dom said. “It was damned lucky we survived what we did. It was damned lucky that Lauren was able to find where they implanted that chip in Matsumoto, and it was damned lucky that Terrence was the only one hurt. You get back to the US and tell whoever you can that we need more than luck if we’re going to continue this fight.”

Shepherd leaned in, speaking in a lower voice so Chao and Samantha couldn’t hear. “Look, Dom. I’m not suggesting I stay on the ship just to be a foot soldier against the Skulls.”

Dom raised an eyebrow.

“What I mean to say is, you’re headed into hell right now. Just your ship and whatever Colonel Ronaldo decides to throw in with you,” Shepherd said. “But that might not be enough.”

“Which is why you’re going to Kinsey.”

“I’ll cut straight to the chase,” Shepherd said. “There’s no shame in heading back with me. Give yourselves and your crew a chance to reload and recover. I’m sure you’ll be back in the shit in no time. But your ship is in rough shape, Dom.”

His anger flared. Was Shepherd trying to piss him off? “Last time we were there, this ship got taken by the US government. My crew was supposed to be killed, and my daughters got taken hostage by a roving band of goddamn lunatics.”

Then Dom sighed. The memories of that betrayal twisted in his gut like a dagger. Falling right back into that old trap would be no smarter than underestimating Spitkovsky again. General Kinsey had convinced Dom to aid in a mission and used it as a pretense to take the Huntress. Dom and the others had barely escaped with their lives while everyone still aboard the Huntress was imprisoned. He would regard any olive branch extended by Kinsey with a heavy dose of skepticism—which was why he needed Shepherd as his man on the ground.

“I can’t just forget what they did to us last time.” Dom’s eyes narrowed. “Or what they did to you. To think they’ll just welcome us back with open arms...well, I might as well put a hole through this ship myself and pilot it straight to the bottom of the ocean.”

“I hear there aren’t too many Skulls down there, at least,” Shepherd said. The dry humor fell flat. “We can try to work out a deal with Kinsey when we get to Lajes. Trust me, I’m not wild about facing Kinsey again myself. But you’ve got to think about the alternative. So long as you’re on this side of the Atlantic, you’re within striking distance of the FGL. You saw their facilities in the Congo. Imagine what else they have out here. One crippled ship and its battered crew isn’t going to stop them.”

At least we’ll try, Dom wanted to say. But he knew how foolish it sounded. Shepherd was right. It was exceedingly dangerous out here. But he worried it was also exceedingly necessary. No one else seemed to be gathering intel in the field, not as they were. He doubted any other Americans had gotten so close to Spitkovsky. Plus, they had captured Matsumoto. They were on to something, and if he retreated now, they might lose the only advantages they had: shock and speed.

Then he pictured Kara and Sadie. How they must’ve been huddled in their quarters during the attack on the ship. He had come so damn close to losing them more times than he could count. He wasn’t just risking his life or those of his crew, the people who had signed up for dangerous missions like this. He was risking his daughters’ lives by staying out here.

“I want your honest opinion,” Dom said. “How likely is it that you can convince Kinsey we’re on his side?”

“With all the intel you’ve gathered, we can make a solid case.”

“Are you a lawyer now?” Dom asked. “I want you to give it to me straight.”

Shepherd’s face turned to stone. “It’s going to be a tough sell. For God’s sake, you opened fire on the Coast Guard.”

“We warned them,” Dom said. “I could’ve killed them outright, but I didn’t. I disabled their ships. That’s it.”

“I’m not sure that will matter,” Shepherd said. “But I do think someone over there will listen to us. I’ll make them listen to us.”

Dom didn’t like that answer. “I’m not convinced.”

Shepherd worked his jaw for a moment as if he were chewing leather. “The alternative is staying out here and getting shot to shit.”

“Shot to shit by our enemies or my own country. Not a great position to be in.”

“It’s not,” Shepherd agreed. “But at least we can try to make a case with Kinsey’s crowd not to shoot you. Or at least not to shoot your family.”

That struck Dom deep through his chest.

“I’ve seen what you can do. Alive, you’re an asset to the United States.” Shepherd patted the table and stood. “At least think about it.”

Dom promised to do just that. Just another addition to the heavy weight saddling him.

Chao turned from his station. “Meredith and Andris are reporting they’ve spotted the wreck.”

-9-

The gray waves swallowed Meredith as she released the air from her BCD, slowly sinking into the darkness below. Behind her, she dragged a cord attached to an orange buoy that bobbed at the surface, allowing Jenna and Miguel to track their whereabouts. Even with that small assurance, the gravity of the situation tugged at her insides. All around her, she saw only darkness except where she shone a dive light. Andris drifted downward beside her, his eyes wide and searching.

Bubbles streamed from Meredith’s regulator. The clicking and snapping sound of unseen creatures throughout the depths pattered against her eardrums. Large, pitted rocks covered in brown plants and all manner of invertebrates projected from the sand. Shadows moved just beyond the beam of her flashlight. She had to remind herself the giant fish down here were not interested in her. But she found that more and more difficult when she saw the seven-hundred-pound Atlantic goliath groupers hanging about the ocean floor. They looked at her and Andris curiously.

Wondering if we’re food? she thought. Trust me, it’s not worth it. We probably taste worse than an MRE.

“Let’s get this over with,” Meredith said.

Andris’s voice came back garbled through her underwater transceiver. “I thought you liked diving.”

“I liked it when I was exploring colorful reefs,” Meredith said.

The remains of the helicopter lay across the seabed like an insect that had been smashed and then smeared over the ground. Rotor blades speared up from the sand, and one of the engines lay cracked open next to the fuselage. Curious fish circled, their silver eyes gleaming when Meredith’s flashlight beam hit them.

She looked at her in-line gauges. There was just over two thousand PSI in her first tank. Plenty of air. That should give them enough time to find the black box. She pumped her legs, carrying herself toward the chopper.

As she drifted ever closer to the helicopter, her mind strayed to the horror of decompression sickness. She could practically see the nitrogen bubbles in her body. If she surfaced too fast, they would expand just like carbonated bubbles in a soda. Humans weren’t designed to be here. The equipment she wore on her back, the regulator in her mouth, and the mask pressed to her face all seemed so feeble in comparison to the ocean. Her wetsuit gave her some protection, but the cold still made her skin prickle. Only a slight bluish glow hung above her, reminding her which direction the sky was.

“Look at that,” Andris said. At least that was what Meredith thought he had said between the gargling breaths of air. She twisted in the water to see him pointing at something half-buried in the coarse sand. His flashlight beam flickered off its metallic surface. At first she thought it was just another part of the helicopter. “Isn’t that what Dom said they tried to throw onto the Huntress?”

A bolt of chilling adrenaline plunged through her vessels, and she tried to remind herself to breathe slowly, to conserve air. It felt like a losing battle with her primitive instincts. “You think it’s a bomb?”

“It does not look like a bomb to me,” Andris said. He kicked to move closer toward it. “It looks more like a...keg.”

“I doubt very much that the FGL wanted to throw a kegger on the Huntress.”

Andris brushed through the sand next to the object.

“Careful!” Meredith said. “Maybe we should leave it alone.”

She imagined the thing exploding, sending their bodies tumbling through the darkness in a swath of violent bubbles.

“No, it is definitely not an explosive,” Andris said. “It appears to be an air tank of sorts.” He pointed to a nozzle on top. “Look, it has already been released.” Then he tapped on the side of the cylinder, making Meredith wince. “It is empty, of course. Whatever was in it has been expelled.”

“Shit,” Meredith said. Her thoughts went wild with possibilities. What kind of mysterious gas was the FGL trying to hit them with? There was of course the very obvious answer that it had something to do with the Oni Agent. “You don’t think...no...I can’t imagine anything else.”

Andris turned to her, his wide eyes visible through his mask. “I did not think the Agent was airborne.”

“Neither did I,” Meredith said. Bubbles streamed from her regulator as she exhaled. “The strain Lauren discovered was unique to the med bay. Kind of like how antibiotic-resistant strains of bacteria crop up in hospitals. But if this is what we think it is, then they have developed an airborne Oni Agent delivery system.”

“It is a scary thought to be sure,” Andris said. “I hope that we are not right. Maybe it is something entirely different.”

“Yeah, let’s hope so,” Meredith said. “Lauren’s team will probably want to take a look at it anyway.”

“Shall we send it up then?” Andris asked.

“Let’s do it.”

Meredith glanced at her in-line gauges. Talking had sapped a good portion of her available air. Andris unsecured one of the empty lift bags he had strapped to his BCD. He tied the cords of the bag to the keg. Meredith dug out the sand around the bottom of the contraption. She kicked back, giving Andris the universal diver gesture with her thumb and pointer finger making a circle: okay.

A third tank Andris carried had been designated for use with the lift bags. He filled the bag as Meredith held it in place, ensuring it didn’t shoot off to the surface too soon. Like a hot air balloon, the bag hoisted the keg above the sand. It felt as if it was ready to rocket upward, so Meredith twisted its dump valve to release a stream of excess air.

She signaled “okay” again to Andris, and he gave the same gesture back. Then she let go of the lift bag and the keg. The bag dragged the keg up toward the surface, pulling it through the water and disappearing into the darkness.

“Miguel, Jenna,” Meredith said. “Just sent the first present your way. Suspected biohazard device. Retrieve with caution.”

“Copy,” Miguel replied.

With that out of the way, they continued to the fuselage of the chopper. It rested on its side like a half-eaten whale carcass. Meredith’s stomach lurched when the beam illuminated an arm hanging out of a broken window. She couldn’t tell if it was still attached to a body or not, but small fish and a few crabs were already picking at the meat.

She swam up and over the open cargo door. A school of fish exploded past her, sending her heart galloping.

Again, she checked her regulator. She was burning through too much air, letting anxiety control her. Andris gestured to her, asking if she was okay. She signaled back that she was.

The tableau before her didn’t make her feel okay, though. The rest of the body was now visible. Like the arm, the torso and head were already being consumed. Other corpses were trapped by straps in the cabin chairs or floated against the ceiling of the helicopter like ghostly apparitions, bloated dead fingers reaching out for something beyond their reach. The cabin was a mess of sea creatures and mechanical garbage. It would be hell to pick through it to find anything that might be of use to Chao and Samantha.

But they hadn’t come this far just to get a look at this horrific scene. Meredith and Andris started in the cockpit, using the tools they’d brought to take apart as much of the electronic equipment as possible. They deposited the radio into a mesh bag along with a metal box Meredith hoped was the FDM. Once the first bag was full, they sent their delivery up and readied another lift bag.

“Second bag incoming,” Meredith reported.

“Copy,” Miguel said. “First item retrieved.”

They worked to fill another bag. Meredith’s light bobbed as she deposited pieces of equipment. Then the light caught something shiny and sharp. A mouthful of daggerlike teeth attached to something that looked like a torpedo.

She let out a cry.

Andris’s head whipped up, and he shot back, dropping the bag of goodies to the floor of the helicopter. His arms flexed as if he was going to duke it out with the creature.

A barracuda had drifted in among the wreckage, its sleek body shimmering in their flashlight beams. Its huge eyes looked them over curiously as it lazily swam past. No doubt the chopper would make a fine home once the humans left. But for now, they were little more than a curiosity.

“Those things always gave me the creeps,” Meredith said.

“He looks like my great-uncle Juris,” Andris said. “Juris was not a friendly man, either. Teeth just like that and a temper to match. I can understand how this Juris-fish would give you those creeps.”

They soon returned to the task at hand. Meredith tried to ignore the fact that she was pushing past a cabin full of bodies in her search. Every minute they spent down here was another chunk of Meredith’s air gone. Another minute that the FGL readied a second attack. Another minute that the Huntress sat around helpless and alone in the middle of the Atlantic.

They might only have one chance at scavenging whatever secrets this chopper held, so she did her best to slow her breathing, to will calm wherever anxiety gnawed at her. But as much willpower as she tried to summon, it all went to hell when something slammed against the cockpit of the helicopter.

This time it was nothing as friendly as the barracuda.

***

Word spread fast that they might return to the United States. Kara hated the idea of going back. But what choice did she have? As it was, she felt like a log on a river, drifting with the current, bumping against the shore and rocks in her way.

America held nothing but terrible memories for her. No, maybe she was being dramatic. Life before the Oni Agent had been a blessing. She had loved her family. She had been going to college and would have become a veterinarian. There wasn’t much she would’ve changed about her life before. Except it would’ve been nice if her dad had dropped by more than a few times a year.

But now, with the apocalypse breathing down her neck, her life had changed. Her mother was a Skull. Her university probably no longer existed, and she wasn’t sure that she’d ever get another chance at being a veterinarian. The funny thing was that she had spent more time with her father over the past few weeks than she had over the past few years.

She knocked on the hatch to the electronics workshop.

“We’re open,” her father boomed.

Kara entered. Dom looked up from the computer screen he was studying. A momentary look of surprise crossed his face.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Sadie and I are fine,” Kara said. She strode over to the table and joined him. “How are Meredith and Andris doing?”

“Last I heard, they had spotted the helicopter. But you didn’t come here to talk about them.”

“Yeah,” Kara said. She hesitated, uncertain whether to ask him about the rumors she’d heard. There was so much going on. She had seen the frenetic activity in the med bay. She knew people were searching the ship for tracking devices. And here she was worried about having to say goodbye to her father again.

“Actually, it’s nothing,” Kara said, moving back toward the hatch.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Dom said, pushing back from the table. “I’ve got a minute if you need to talk.”

“Are you sure?” She felt guilty taking up even this much of his time. She was worrying like a child. She should be better than that.

“Kara, I’ve always got time for you.”

Kara twisted her hair around her finger. “Are we dropping off all the civilians when we get to the United States?”

Dom smiled slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You know what they say about loose lips...”

“What about us? Me and Sadie?”

There was a second of hesitation in her father’s reply. It might as well have been an hour of silence for the volumes it spoke.

“You’ve thought about it, haven’t you?” Kara asked. She felt a storm of frustration and sadness at the possibility of being sent away, at being separated from her father.

“It’s a complicated situation,” Dom said. Kara could see in his steely expression that he wasn’t lying. “I’m worried about you and Sadie.”

“I don’t want to have to leave again.” She felt the heat rise to her face. But she understood where her father was coming from. If she had learned anything during her time on the Huntress, it was that her father’s burden was greater than she had ever realized. “But if you think that’s best, then I will.”

“Right now, we don’t know what’s best,” Dom said. “We’re sailing toward an unknown enemy. At least back in the States, you’d have the midshipmen and Shepherd. You’d have Kent Island.”

Kara said nothing. She was afraid if she opened her mouth, the words would come out in a blubbering mess. She simply nodded.

“I know you can take care of yourself, but Sadie would be safer there,” Dom said.

“You want me to keep an eye on her.”

“I do.” He reached out and put his hand over hers. “I don’t like the idea of letting you and your sister out of my sight. But I hope you understand what’s at stake. I would do anything to keep you girls safe. And I’m afraid that might mean you and Sadie need to be somewhere else.”

She did understand. She didn’t like it. But she understood.

“I’m sorry,” Dom said. “I haven’t made up my mind yet, but we’ve got to find someplace safe for you and your sister.”

Kara sensed an opening. “So maybe that doesn’t mean sending us back with Shepherd. Maybe Lajes is safe enough.” At least then there wouldn’t be half the world between her and her father.

When she had watched her mother turn into a Skull, the only thing that had helped her through it was knowing that her father was still out there. Her worst fear wasn’t leaving the Huntress. It was losing him. She wasn’t sure if she or Sadie could handle a world like this knowing their father was gone, too.

She started to work up the courage to say more. Before she could, Chao turned around from his station.

“Captain, we’ve got an emergency at the dive site.”

-10-

Andris liked eating fish. He did not, however, like for them to eat him.

Seafood was plentiful around Riga, the Latvian capital. He had grown up eating pike, salmon, and carp. Even now, he could recall the market’s fishy, oily odor when his mother would take him to gaze at the rows of red and silver creatures entombed in ice.

Yes, those were the good times. The times they could afford what his mother had affectionately called “good meat.”

He did not take those times for granted. But now he wondered if this wasn’t some kind of retribution for all those creatures he had devoured so greedily as a child.

He did everything he could not to panic. To panic was to commit suicide at these depths. All the same, he could not help the surge of adrenaline pummeling his heart.

The chopper shuddered as the fish threw itself at the cockpit again. It heaved its open mouth at the helicopter, its tail thrashing.

“Miguel,” Andris said as calmly as he could. “We have run into an obstacle. A fish is trying to eat us.”

“I’m not sure I understood that,” Miguel said. “Could you repeat?”

“A fish is trying to eat us,” Andris said.

“Okay, guess I did understand. What do you want me to do?”

“I am not sure yet,” Andris said, kicking away from the open cockpit and deeper into the fuselage. “But if we do not come to the surface, at least you know what has happened to us.”

“I’m not getting eaten by a goddamned fish,” Meredith said.

The giant fish thrashed against the cockpit. Glass splintered and fractured, smacked away by the giant fins. The fish was a good six or seven feet from tail to nose.

“This is no shark,” Andris said. “What is it?”

“A grouper,” Meredith said. “But they aren’t aggressive. It doesn’t make any sense.”

He saw Meredith check her gauges and looked at his own. It was almost time to switch to the next tank. The chopper rocked backward as the grouper attacked again.

Andris searched the cockpit for a weapon. There was a machine gun lying bent and broken next to a corpse. It would do no good down here as a firearm. Maybe as a spear, though. He kicked to move toward it and picked the weapon up.

Meredith’s flashlight beam played over the creature’s face. Andris’s blood ran colder than the water around him. He was no marine biologist, but the creature’s eyes didn’t look right. They glinted red. Bones in the grouper’s dorsal fins spiked out, and its pectoral fins looked almost like claws.

“This cannot be,” Andris said.

He thought of the Oni Agent expelled by the canister they’d already sent back up to the surface.

“Good god,” Meredith said, realizing the truth at the same moment as Andris.

Andris secured a lift bag to the last batch of electronics but did not release it. The creature would destroy all their work if he sent it up now. Worse yet, Andris figured the creature might just fit through the open side door in the cabin. The last thing he wanted was to fight a massive Oni Agent-infected fish.

“We have to leave,” Meredith said, motioning to her dive gauge. She was already on her second tank.

Andris sucked a shallow breath through his regulator. He didn’t need to look at his gauges to know it was time for him to switch, too. The giant grouper continued to bite and snap at them. As much as he wanted to leave now, they couldn’t allow it to infect other marine life.

You assume that more fish aren’t already infected, he thought.

“We must kill this fish first,” Andris said. He picked up the machine gun and swam toward the grouper’s open mouth. The beast threw itself against the chopper again and again. Andris thrust the machine gun into the maw. The fish bit down and shook its head. Blood flowed from its mouth and turned the surrounding water red.

Still the beast continued its assault, only now with a gun stabbed through the roof of its mouth.

“Other ideas?” Andris asked. He and Meredith searched the cockpit. The chopper shuddered again, and debris flaked from the ceiling. But there didn’t appear to be anything else they could use to joust with the monster. “Then we will send up the last bag. I will distract the fishy.”

Meredith looked at him as if to question his sanity.

“Hurry!” He grabbed the end of the machine gun and twisted it. The fish struggled as if it were caught on a hook. Andris wasn’t sure any human would have the strength to reel in a fish like this. He was not so macho as to think he could do it. The stock of the gun started to slip from his grip.

He tightened his fingers, muscles straining, and braced himself against the cockpit chairs. His oxygen was running out. If he didn’t conquer his foe soon, lack of air would conquer him.

The fish reared back and freed itself from the gun. More blood clouded the water around the creature. Andris braced for another assault from the possessed fish.

It never came.

After a moment, he shone his light into the darkness where the fish had been. There was nothing but silt and a cloud of rapidly dispersing blood.

“Meredith,” Andris called. “The fish is gone.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

He turned to see her let go of the lift bag. It drifted up from the side door and floated toward the surface. His muscles tensed. He half expected the grouper to come surging out of the darkness and tear into the lift bag, scattering all the wreckage they had scavenged.

It didn’t. Instead, the beast’s face appeared in the open side door. Its huge mouth clamped onto Meredith’s leg. Her fingers splayed as she struggled to find something, anything to hold onto inside the chopper. But she found no purchase.

Andris launched forward and grabbed her arm. He spread his legs, shoving his finned feet against the bulkhead and pulling back on Meredith’s wrist.

The creature was so strong. He could feel his gloved fingers slowly sliding up her wetsuit.

If Dom saw me embracing his woman like this, Andris thought, I would have some explaining to do.

Meredith’s free hand shot toward her thigh. She pulled her dive knife from its sheath and stabbed toward the grouper. But with Andris holding her, she couldn’t reach it.

“Let go,” she said.

“No!” Andris cried. The last time he had gone along with someone else’s plan, Terrence had had his legs blown off. He wouldn’t let Meredith lose her limbs or her life trying to prove her bravado to him.

“Damn it,” Meredith said. “Let go now.”

“If I let go, you will be pulled into the darkness,” he said.

“Andris, trust me.”

He had let one of his comrades go once already today. He wouldn’t let another slip away. There had to be another way.

Meredith was strong. Capable. He had seen her pull through worse situations. But if he remembered anything from dive training with the French Foreign Legion, it was the absolute adherence to the so-called buddy system. To lose your buddy underwater was akin to cutting off your own limb. You did not dive solo, and you did not let your buddy go.

That fish did not make a good dive buddy. He would not let it take Meredith away.

Meredith slashed, cutting at its snout. Each slash and stab seemed to do nothing more than enrage the monster. One little knife was not enough against the massive grouper.

Then he spied the extra tank they’d used to fill the lift bags. It still had some air in it.

Andris pulled Meredith toward him. She tightened one hand on the bulkhead.

“Both hands,” Andris said. “Trust me, Meredith.”

She let go of the knife and grabbed the lip of the side door.

He grabbed the air tank and slammed it into the grouper’s face. The monster’s jaw loosened, and he shoved the tank between its teeth. Then he opened the valve. The jetting air thrust the tank farther into the fish’s throat, and Meredith was able to withdraw her leg from its mouth. Holes in her wetsuit revealed lacerated flesh, but at least she could still swim.

The fish twisted and thrashed, struggling to expel the tank. Meredith lashed out with the knife over and over, cutting into the confused monster’s face. Andris took out his own dive knife and joined her. Under their assault, its thrashing slowed. Its eyes were a mess of bloodied tissue, and soon it tilted on its side. The last bubbles of the air tank filtered out.

The fish was dead. Andris checked his gauges. His second tank was almost dead, too.

It was time to head to the surface. They had no other choice. Together, they slowly ascended, careful not to push the limits of decompression.

All the while, Andris’s eyes swept the waters below and above them. There was no telling how many other animals had been infected. It was bad enough to face Skulls on land. But worrying about monsters on land, sea, and air was not something Andris had looked forward to.

***

Lauren held the small device in the palm of her hand. All that work, all that tension, just to remove this tiny thing. As Dom had predicted, it was about the size of a house key. Except instead of just an antenna, battery, and GPS transmitter, there seemed to be something else. Lauren was no tech, but she could tell this device was more than a GPS tracker. Two probes hung from the device. It reminded her of a responsive neurostimulation device—the kind of implant used to help regulate epileptic seizures.

Matsumoto had survived the device extraction. A strange thing seemed to have happened after the surgery. His breathing and pulse recovered, more in line with a healthy individual. He no longer seemed to be teetering on the brink of death.

Lauren suspected the implant had something to do with it. She had heard the stories Dom and the Hunters had brought back from the Congo about the Titans. The militia had found neurological implants in the Titans, though at the time they didn’t know the purpose of the devices. Samantha and Chao’s research had shown that the FGL was trying to develop a method to control the Titans and, through them, the Skulls. Perhaps this device was similar.

She wouldn’t know for sure until Samantha and Chao inspected it. There was a high chance that even with their technological prowess, they wouldn’t be able to tell what the device’s purpose was. It was sophisticated hardware, unlike anything she’d ever seen. Still, any intel they gathered from it at that point would be an unexpected and welcome benefit.

Lauren cleaned the implant thoroughly and deposited it on one of their workbenches. “We need to get the GPS tracking component out of here immediately.”

“On it,” Samantha said, striding over. She reached to pick up the device then stopped. “You did disinfect this after pulling it out of the old guy, didn’t you?”

Lauren raised a brow.

“Just checking!”

“You’re the last person I would expect to be worried about that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Samantha asked.

“You’re going to let a little blood turn you off from what could be a tremendous feat of electric engineering?”

“I don’t know what’s in that bastard’s blood.”

“Don’t worry,” Lauren said, prodding the device. “It’s clean now.”

Lauren left Samantha to work on the device.

With Terrence and Matsumoto both recovering from surgery, it was time to get back to research. Meredith and Andris had returned from their adventure at the helicopter crash site. From what she had heard, it hadn’t gone quite as expected. The thought of more creatures out there with the Oni Agent, especially in Earth’s oceans and rivers and lakes, made her shiver. Cleaning up after this pandemic was going to be far more difficult than any of them had realized.

Divya and Sean were already in full CBRN suits inside the BSL-4 section of the laboratory. They deposited samples of the residue they’d recovered from inside the keg-like tank into plastic vials for chromatographic analysis. Another set of samples was also running through a genome-sequencing machine.

Peter watched them from outside the lab. “What’s your prediction, Dr. Winters?”

“This must be some variant strain of the Oni Agent,” Lauren said. “It’s got to be.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it is something even worse than the Oni Agent.”

“Always the pessimist.”

“I prefer to be called a realist.”

Lauren hoped Peter was wrong. If the Forces of Global Liberation had developed an entirely new bioweapon, then they were going to have to start from square one.

“I can’t believe I’m actually saying this,” Lauren said, “but I hope it is just a strain of the Oni Agent and not something else.”

“If we unintentionally created an airborne strain, I have no doubt the FGL could’ve created something even nastier on purpose.”

“This nanobacteria evolves and adapts so quickly. I don’t know how long we can keep up. What do we do when the Oni Agent has evolved to the point where the Phoenix Compound is no longer effective?”

“Now who is the pessimist?”

“Caught me,” Lauren said. “But given what Meredith and Andris saw, the Oni Agent is out of control. Affecting fish? I mean, damn, that is insane, even for a typical zoonotic disease. Primates back in the Congo, I could see. But fish?”

Peter scratched at the stubble along his chin. “Maybe that’s just a facet of the nanobacteria. It can survive in anything with bones or cartilage. It thrives in a calcified environment.”

“So the Oni Agent has effectively turned the world against us,” Lauren said.

“You don’t think that fish was affected by the airborne agent the chopper tried to drop on us, do you?”

“No, everything Andris and Meredith described pointed to an animal that had been affected by the Agent for a while. For all we know, it scavenged on a dead Skull weeks ago.”

Peter frowned. “I’m surprised we haven’t seen more animals affected by the Agent.”

Lauren considered that for a moment. The idea that something humans had created would pervert not just their own biology, but that of all living creatures was against everything she believed as a scientist and healer. Even if they did save humanity, what would be left of the world? How deep did this destruction go?

“I’m not sure,” Lauren said. “Animals have evolved all kinds of mechanisms for survival. Nature is a constant war. A few Oni Agent-infected predators would be nothing more than hyper-aggressive representatives of their species. Other animals are used to being chased. They’re used to hiding and fighting. So in a way, the Oni Agent is nothing nature hasn’t thrown at them before.

“But we’re used to being apex predators, top of the food chain. Except we’re not at the top anymore. This game’s new for us, but not for the creatures already engaged in a daily struggle for survival.”

Peter stepped back, his eyes tracing Divya and Sean. His face was pale and drawn, and his expression looked haunted. Working in the lab, he and all the others were well aware the scientific challenges the Oni Agent posed. They treated patients on a case-by-case basis, and they performed computer simulations. But they barely spent any time off the ship. What they knew of this new world came from Dom and the Hunters’ stories, video and audio feeds, and data reports. They weren’t running for their lives from acid-spitting Droolers or avoiding the raking claws of an enormous Goliath.

“We can only hope that the animal kingdom survives this madness,” Peter said finally. “If it doesn’t, neither will we.” He looked at Lauren ruefully. “That is beyond our control. But we can control the Phoenix Compound. Question is, do you think it will work against the new airborne strain?”

“I’m hoping Diva and Sean can tell us that by the end of the day. But even so, that’s not what I’m most worried about.” She took a deep breath, trying to sort through the multitude of frightening thoughts swarming her mind. “What I want to know is why the FGL would be developing new strains of the Oni Agent. The original outbreak was incredibly effective. What in the hell do they plan to do with the new bioweapon?”

-11-

Dom hovered over Chao’s shoulder as the stormy waves rocked the ship, trying to ignore the undulating muscle pain each time his weight shifted to his injured leg. The innards of the electronics Andris and Meredith had brought back were spread across one of the benches.

“Where are we at?” Dom asked.

“I’ve found some butchered information on the flight paths,” Chao said. “I’ve got some dates here as well. We recovered a few flight logs but nothing from today. At least nothing yet.”

Samantha leaned back in her chair, her arms flexing behind her head. “I don’t think we can dig up anything else on their flight patterns. Data is shot to shit. If there was something to break into, we would’ve broken into it. We found the treasure chest, picked the lock, and there was nothing but a steaming pile of manure in it.”

“Damn.” Dom’s fingers clenched into fists, but he forced them to relax.

Meredith and Andris were both recovering in the mess after a checkup with Lauren and Peter. Meredith’s wounds had been relatively minor. The duo had been lucky to come away with no other injuries. Still, Dom hated to think that their efforts had been worthless.

They were no closer to finding Spitkovsky than they were before the choppers attacked. At least none of the crew had reported any more tracking devices or bugs on their sweep of the ship. Hopefully, Matsumoto’s tag had been the only one on board.

With the device disabled, Spitkovsky would no longer be able to find them—but Dom was just as incapable of tracking down the FGL.

“Those flight paths you found—were there any common destinations?” Dom asked. If the transport chopper had visited a location more than once, they could assume that location was relevant to the FGL.

“Not exactly,” Chao said. “But there is this.” He tapped a button on his keyboard. The multi-paneled screen in front of him showed a map with half a dozen locations marked. “This is why I think the helicopters were from a ship.”

Dom understood right away. Each of the dots indicated port cities, from Istanbul to Beirut, Tunis to Algiers. There were timestamps next to a couple of the locations. “It looks like this bird was making its way through port cities, going slowly west.”

“Right,” Chao said, “all the way until they met us. Based on my estimates, which I admit are pretty liberal, the ship those helicopters came from might be anywhere from Lisbon to Casablanca.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover,” Dom said. “Anything we can use to narrow it down?”

Chao shook his head.

“Damn,” Dom said. Something else bothered him about the data. The ship that helicopter belonged to had been traveling slowly westward for weeks. That meant it had been moving west before they’d even brought Matsumoto aboard. The FGL hadn’t come this way just to intercept the Huntress.

“What in the hell is the FGL doing all the way out here?”

“Would’ve been nice if they told us,” Samantha said. “Guess they were too busy trying to kill everybody.”

“That’s a good question,” Chao said, ignoring Samantha’s sarcasm. “I took the liberty of seeing if any of the cities they’ve visited have major industries in common. Say, pharmaceuticals or weapons manufacturing—you know, things that would be useful for the FGL. But there’s no ready narrative there. Maybe they’re just pirates.”

“These are all port cities,” Dom said. “Getting ships in and out, delivering goods—that’s what they do.” Something clicked in his mind. “Shit. That’s exactly what they do.”

Chao cocked his head questioningly.

“If I were to guess, they’re not raiding these cities for supplies. No, they’re doing something far more sinister. They’re setting up a distribution network.” Dom paced behind Chao’s desk. “Lauren told me the shit that chopper tried to drop on us might be a new biological weapon or at least another strain of the Oni Agent. If that proves to be the case, maybe they’re establishing distribution centers all across the Mediterranean.”

His fingers curled into a fist again. “For all we know, they might be connecting a shipping network all over the world. Everyone else is too busy trying to deal with the Skulls to notice. The FGL can just traipse into these port cities and set up shop.”

He let the thought simmer in his mind. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Maybe he was giving Spitkovsky a bit too much credit.

No, Dom thought, if anything, you aren’t giving him enough credit.

He’d seen exactly what Spitkovsky was capable of in the Congo.

Dom surveyed the rest of the equipment piled around the workshop. Maybe they couldn’t get any intel off the devices they’d examined, but he had another idea. He looked at the map of all the possible places the enemy ship might be. His gut told him Spitkovsky wouldn’t be the type to throw a punch and then run. He would be somewhere close.

He rifled through the pieces of equipment: wires and computers, gauges and all manner of electronics lying across the table. Then he found it. A radio.

“We should have done this first,” Dom said, holding up the broken radio. “Can’t believe I got so distracted by trying to find out where they’ve been. We need to know where they’re going.”

Chao and Samantha joined him at the table, studying the radio.

“Shit,” Samantha said, looking up at Dom. “You’re right. Of course.” She started prying apart the radio. “At least, I hope you’re right.”

Samantha disassembled the radio. She took a few components back to her desk, but Dom had no idea exactly what she had grabbed. Looking at all the silicon chips and wires was like trying to read a foreign language. She clipped a wire, then another. Then she took part of the radio and hooked it up to the ship’s comms.

Finally, she looked up from her work. “I got it.”

Chao scanned all available channels, looking for one with active comms. They had been searching for radio signals from other sources, hoping to find more survivors, especially government and military operations like Lajes Field. But now, with Samantha’s help, they could search for comms on the FGL’s encrypted multiband frequencies.

For several minutes, they waited in silence.

“Did it work?” Dom asked.

“Hard to say,” Chao said. “We could always ping them to see if any channels are open. But if we do that, we risk giving away that we’re listening. Right now, we’re just passively scanning, so until they say something, all we can do is wait.”

And so they did. Chao’s brow was a gorge of wrinkles as he listened. Dom tried to come up with an alternative plan to find where those choppers had come from or where the FGL was hanging out now. But short of visiting each of those port cities himself, he didn’t have any good ideas.

Damn it, we need a win, he thought.

A crackle of static sizzled over the speakers. Dom leaned forward, and Samantha and Chao jolted upright in their chairs.

The static soon turned into a garbled voice, only somewhat intelligible. He strained to listen to what the voice said. As Samantha adjusted the comms, it soon became clear.

The voice was speaking Russian.

***

Meredith sat at the table in the workshop with Shepherd and Dom. Glenn, their resident polyglot, was working with Chao and Samantha to translate the communications over the encrypted channels they’d uncovered.

“This is mostly garbage, isn’t it?” she said, looking over the transcripts Chao and Samantha had already provided.

“Utter shit,” Shepherd said.

As Glenn translated more of the conversations, assisted by Samantha’s natural language processing software, Chao deposited more freshly intercepted communications. Most seemed to be nothing more than bored chatter between pilots. Casual conversations about who was getting laid and who was hungover that morning. Meredith wanted to reach through the comm systems and choke those bastards. They were responsible for destroying most of the known world, and they were going on as though nothing in their miserable lives had changed.

“When do these assholes say something interesting?” Meredith asked. “I’m tired of hearing about Vladimir’s stick-shift.”

She balled up one of the many useless conversations and threw it across the room.

“You don’t think they’re talking in code, do you?” Dom asked. “I know it’s a stretch, but...”

“No,” Shepherd said. “This is par for the course for the Russians. I had a friend who worked comms on a destroyer near Syria. Russian jets would buzz them like a bunch of arrogant assholes. My buddy said he’d have his comm officers try to hail them on a VHF and UHF guard. Most of the time, the Russians didn’t respond. But when he had a female comm officer, they would almost always reply. It was usually something like, ‘Lady, you have pretty voice.’” Shepherd shook his head. “Those guys were constantly on the verge of causing an international crisis, and that pickup line was the best they could do.”

“Glenn,” Meredith called to the man, “tell the Russians to give us something useful.”

Glenn let out a low laugh. “I’m not sure I can do that. I can understand Russian way better than I can speak it. I’d probably tell them to—”

The comms sparked to life again. Glenn started diligently typing at Chao’s computer. As he listened, his expression changed. He leaned into the speakers, his lips pursed and brow knitted. This time the words didn’t sound Russian to Meredith.

Arabic, maybe? She thought.

When the lines went quiet, Glenn rubbed a hand over his buzzed head. “Okay, that one seemed important.”

The printer station spit out several sheets of paper, and Glenn dropped them at the table with Shepherd, Dom, and Meredith.

“Please tell me it wasn’t another story about Alexei’s latest rager,” Meredith said.

“That would be a negative,” Glenn said. “For one thing, it was in Farsi, not Russian. It was a bit cryptic, but they mentioned an escort.”

“An escort? I thought we were done talking about debauchery,” Meredith said with a raised brow.

“You got it, sister. We’re talking about a military escort. Now, Farsi isn’t my strongest language, and there was a fair bit of jargon I didn’t understand. The gist of it is that they’ve got a shipment going out.”

“What kind of shipment?” Dom asked.

“Not sure. It might have been more than one shipment.”

Meredith’s stomach sank. At the same time, she saw a glimmer of understanding in Dom’s expression.

“Goddammit, I was right.” Instead of explaining anything, Dom punched a button on the intraship comms. The intercom at the table buzzed as they waited for a response.

“Med bay, this is Lauren.”

“Have you figured out what was in that tank that Meredith and Andris brought back?” Dom asked.

“Several assays are still running,” Lauren said. “It’s going to be a few hours before we have a full genomic workup. Chromatography data is being analyzed now, but I won’t be able to confirm anything for sure until the gene sequencing is done.”

“You might not be able to confirm it, but can you give us a guess?”

“It’s as we expected,” Lauren replied. “Another strain of the Oni Agent. I think it’s slightly different from the original. Without the final results, I can’t say how similar it is to the resistant strain that cropped up on this ship.”

“You think it’s airborne?”

“We haven’t done any tests to determine the mode of transmission,” Lauren said, “but I’m not sure we have to. Sean did a little extra digging. The contraption they were about to drop on us was based on a device intended to be used with the Marburg virus developed by the USSR’s Biopreparat. That device delivered aerosolized viruses. So yes, it’s airborne.”

“Thanks,” Dom said then looked up at Glenn. “Anything in that conversation that aligns with Lauren’s findings?”

“Something about new batches,” Glenn said.

“Do we have any idea where these deliveries are coming from?” Meredith asked. “Or where they’re going?”

“Nothing,” Glenn said. “The best I’ve got is that the ships go out in five days.”

“Was that ships, as in plural?” Meredith asked.

“Yes,” Glenn said. “I’m sure of it.”

Meredith sighed. “Fantastic. Five days until the next stage of the apocalypse.”

-12-

The rest of the trip to the Azores Island was nothing like a pleasure cruise. Shepherd spent the stress-filled hours analyzing the intel they had gathered, but there wasn’t much to work with. They had been lucky the first time. Since the Arabic transmission about the shipments, they had overheard a few Russian pilots making observations about what the Skull-torn landscape looked like in between bursts of idle conversation. It seemed these people were being cautious, not even taking their encrypted channels for granted.

Good for them, Shepherd thought, bad for us.

Finally, they reached Lajes. Shepherd strode down the gangplank from the cargo bay to the pier. A blustery wind greeted him, bringing with it a salty scent that intermingled with the dense foliage of the island. Portuguese soldiers were already moving up the gangplank with pallets and crates to resupply the Huntress. Colonel Ronaldo had made good on his promise to aid Dom and his crew.

When Shepherd reached the bottom of the gangplank, he stepped to the side to allow four men carrying a particularly large load. He saw Dom speaking with Colonel Ronaldo and Frank Battaglia, the Huntress’s pilot, at one end of the pier. Frank had successfully flown Shepherd, Rachel, and Rory from Baltimore to Lajes the first time they’d visited the island. They were damn lucky to have met Ronaldo, and even luckier that he had been so open to helping them.

“Colonel Shepherd,” Ronaldo said. He offered a hand in hearty greeting. “It is a pleasure to see you here again.”

“Didn’t think I’d be back so soon,” Shepherd said. “With luck, I’ll be leaving sooner.”

“You do not enjoy my company?” Ronaldo asked with a gruff laugh. “Do you not like my island paradise?”

“I’d love to stay,” Shepherd said, “but that isn’t going to help anyone back home, is it?”

“No, it is not,” Ronaldo agreed. “Captain Holland tells me we need to place some urgent calls.”

“That we do,” Shepherd said. They needed to convince Kinsey to let them back into his circle. Shepherd was a career military man, but after seeing how Kinsey had treated the Hunters—and after being waterboarded himself—the prospect of calling Kinsey, much less meeting the man face-to-face, made him sick with apprehension.

“The sooner we do that, the sooner we can get out of here,” Dom said as they boarded a jeep.

At Ronaldo’s behest, the driver took off, bumping along the empty roads through town toward Lajes Field. They passed the golden sands of the Praia da Vitoria. In another time, the beach had been very picturesque against its backdrop of a quaint, white-walled town. But now, with no one to wander the streets except for military personnel or civilians pressed into service, it looked lonely and depressing.

They didn’t bother with idle chatter as they crested the hills toward Lajes, instead jumping straight into business.

“I have a C-130 ready to transport you and whoever else you want back to the United States,” Ronaldo said. “It can land on just about any runway, even if there are a few Skulls in its way. I’ll send a few of my own men with you, of course.”

Shepherd traded a glance with Dom. That wasn’t part of the original deal. “Why do you want your people to go? They’re safer here,” Dom said.

“If I tell your General Kinsey that I’m sending you, this Matsumoto man, and a few other Americans, I want to make sure you arrive. My people may need the help of the United States someday, and I don’t want your country to think I am not a man of my word.”

“I do appreciate that,” Shepherd said. “But I can take care of myself.”

“My plane, my rules,” Ronaldo said. “I would like very much to make a good impression with the Americans.”

“I won’t tell you what to do,” Shepherd said after a pause, “so long as I get Matsumoto to Kinsey.”

“Then there is nothing to worry about.”

The jeep pulled up to a barbed-wire-topped gate. A guard saluted Ronaldo and let them through. They reached a flat, red-roofed building that served as his headquarters. The colonel led them through hallways bustling with men and women, all of whom seemed to be on a mission. Shepherd was surprised. The last time he had been at Lajes, the people here had been restless, but they hadn’t had much to do other than guarding the field against errant Skulls and maintaining the airplanes at the base.

“What’s everybody up to?” Dom asked. “Looks like you all are running quite the operation in here.”

“Ah, well, just to prove to you my dedication, I have ordered a few scouting operations to see if we could confirm any of that intel you gave us on the alleged distribution port.”

Dom’s eyes lit up. “What did you find?”

“We’ve only just begun,” Ronaldo replied. “My men will report the results as they can. We’re relying on a combination of satellite imagery and flyovers.”

“That’s much appreciated,” Dom said.

“It is not so much a favor to you,” Ronaldo said. “I am very much devoted to ending the Skulls.”

“At least we’re all on the same page there,” Shepherd said as a private held a door open for them. They entered another room full of buzzing communications equipment and technical officers operating computers and radios.

Ronaldo motioned to a station with an empty seat. “Satellite phones, radios, whatever you need, at your disposal. I will leave you to it.” He paused at the door. “I’m going to monitor my scout teams. I’ll be back as soon as we have any news.”

“Thank you, Colonel.” Shepherd took a seat at the station. He wasn’t sure what the proper communication protocol would be at this point. Since Fort Detrick had reestablished communications with the rest of the US military, he had largely been out of the loop. But his time as army garrison commander gave him a starting point. He dialed the priority line at Detrick.

“Fort Detrick,” a voice answered. Thank God, Shepherd thought. It wasn’t just any communications officer—he recognized that voice. He was pleasantly surprised to hear Lieutenant Vasquez was still at her old post.

“Vasquez, Colonel Shepherd at Lajes Field. It is good to hear your voice.”

“Better to hear yours, sir! I have so many questions, but I assume this isn’t a call for chit-chat.”

“You assume correctly, Lieutenant,” Shepherd said. “I need to reach General Kinsey immediately.”

“Last we heard, he’s bunkered down at the Pentagon. What’s left of it, anyway. Virginia was hit hard by both Skulls and militia.”

He’d known things were bad. Shepherd had been there in some kind of military prison complex when it was overrun by Skulls. But it still physically pained him to hear the center of what had been the world’s most powerful military was in a state of collapse.

“What about the current administration? Who’s running the country?”

“That, I’m not privy to,” Vasquez said. “We’re still operating under the assumption Vice President Herbert has taken office, but there are rumors about who is really in charge. Frankly, I think the DOD is still trying to figure out who in the hell they report to, sir.”

“Here’s to hoping we find out soon.”

“Amen to that, sir. Can I patch you in to Kinsey’s line now, sir?”

“Yes, Lieutenant.” He paused and then added, “It was a pleasure to serve with you, and I hope to do so again very soon.”

A click sounded over the line, followed by a buzz indicating Shepherd had been transferred. Talking to Vasquez had raised his spirits. If even a small part of the Pentagon was still standing, that had to mean something. The government hadn’t just retreated to their mountain bunkers while the rest of the country withered away.

No, there was some order emerging from the chaos.

“Operation Reclaim Center, please identify yourself,” a male voice answered. Definitely no one Shepherd recognized.

“Colonel Jacob Shepherd, former commander of Fort Detrick’s army garrison, hailing from Lajes Field, Azores Island.”

“This is an emergency line, Colonel. What is the emergency?”

“The emergency is that I need to speak to General Kinsey,” Shepherd said. He wanted to tell him that the whole goddamned world might be at risk from a second wave of the Oni Agent outbreak. But he wasn’t sure whom he could trust with that information. Even telling Kinsey seemed risky, but he had to let someone in charge know.

“General Kinsey is unavailable.”

“You tell him Colonel Shepherd is on the line, and I guarantee you he will suddenly find himself available.”

“Colonel, this line is strictly for authorized personnel only.”

“Do you value your career in the military?”

There was a second hesitation as Shepherd caught the officer unready. “Yes, sir. Now more than ever.”

“And we need you now more than ever,” Shepherd said. “But if you do not tell Kinsey that I’m on the line with time-sensitive intel, I guarantee that even if you are the last communications specialist in the Pentagon, you will be discharged.”

“Sir, excuse me for saying so, but—”

“Look, son, unless you want more of those claw-fingered, grotesque monstrosities barging in on the Pentagon—hell, unless you want to become one of those abominations yourself—you’re going to get me Kinsey right fucking now.”

There was a beat of silence on the line. Shepherd decided to keep pressing the comms operator.

“Imagine your flesh wasting away, bones jutting out of your skin, and plates bursting from your chest,” Shepherd said. “You got family left? You got any friends? Imagine you’re responsible for killing them. Imagine knowing that you’re a monster who ate your goddamn family. That’s what’s at stake. And if I do not talk to Kinsey in fifteen seconds, that’s going to be your godforsaken reality.”

“Yes sir, I’ll see if he’s available.”

“He will be.”

Ten seconds later, Shepherd turned out to be right.

“Shepherd, you slimy son of a bitch,” Kinsey growled. “What in God’s good name are you doing?”

“Trying to stop the Oni Agent from destroying the United States,” Shepherd said.

“You’re too goddamned late for that.”

“Let me correct that. Trying to stop the Oni Agent from destroying what’s left of the United States.”

“You’re a goddamned fugitive. Do you want me to bring you in for questioning again?”

“Maybe I give a damn about my country and my duty to it,” Shepherd said. “Do what you want with me, but we’ve discovered something you need to know. A couple somethings, in fact.”

“We?” Kinsey asked, suspicion dripping from his voice.

“Is this line secure?”

“As secure as it gets nowadays.”

“You might be surprised to hear I’ve found Captain Dominic Holland and CIA intelligence officer Meredith Webb.”

“Goddammit, Shepherd. I was almost ready to believe you were on our side again. My men told me...no, no, this is bullshit. If you’re with those terrorists, I don’t want to hear it.”

“They’re not terrorists,” Shepherd said, doing his best to sound calm. He could already picture Kinsey’s face turning red and the man’s chest puffing out like a taunting gorilla. “I have evidence to prove it. We should be working with them, not against them.”

“They fired on our goddamn ships, Shepherd. Almost killed US armed forces personnel.”

Beside him, Dom heaved a visible sigh of relief at the word almost.

“You tried to get them killed and took their ship, if I recall. But that’s neither here nor there. I’m confident you did what you thought was right, sir. But we’ve uncovered some intel that shows you were mistaken.”

There was a long, drawn-out pause. “I’m afraid you may be right.”

Shepherd had been expecting a lot of things from Kinsey. But he hadn’t been expecting that. The sudden shift in Kinsey’s tone had him flummoxed. Was the man testing him? Luring him into a trap?

“Excuse me, sir?”

“I’m not comfortable describing everything we’ve discovered like this. I don’t know who else is listening in on us. But what I will say is that certain events have made it more apparent that a few false flags may have been planted.”

Shepherd was at a loss for words. He thought he’d be dealing with a blustery Kinsey, full of vitriol, but now this was turning into an actual, constructive conversation.

“That being said, the jury’s still out on that Holland character and the CIA bitch.”

Dom growled, reaching forward as though he wanted to grab the microphone and give Kinsey a piece of his mind, but Shepherd held up a hand to forestall him.

“I hope I can convince you otherwise,” Shepherd said.

-13-

Dom had spent his career trying to make the world safe. He had chased bioweapons and terrorist threats across the oceans in death-defying missions the US was afraid to send its own personnel to do. No one ever thanked him or his crew for their service; no one even knew the sacrifices they had made. The only person that had known what they had done was Meredith, and now her name was being dragged through the mud with his.

His fingers curled as he listened to Kinsey. He wanted to reach through the speakers in the cramped communications room and strangle the general. It took every bit of self-control he had not to curse him out as Shepherd tried to convince the man they were on his side. The only thing that really seemed to get the general’s attention was when Shepherd mentioned a possible second wave of Oni Agent.

“I’m listening,” Kinsey said, “but this better be good.”

“I have reason to believe that the Oni Agent has been altered and the individuals responsible are planning to release this new strain,” Shepherd said.

“I see,” Kinsey said. “And you expect me to believe this isn’t some bull-headed attempt for you and Holland to weasel your way back into our good graces?”

Ronaldo’s men and women continued their work beyond the glass partition. They toiled at computers and other communications equipment but stole occasional glances back at Shepherd and Dom. They, too, must have understood what was at stake in this conversation.

“I don’t expect you to, no,” Shepherd said. “Why don’t I let Captain Holland try to convince you?”

“You’ve got that bastard there right now?”

“Hello, Kinsey,” Dom said, taking a handset.

“Captain fucking Holland. Even if you have nothing to do with the Oni Agent, you put lives at risk. You fired on one of our vessels. There are standing orders to shoot you on sight should you dare set foot on American soil again.”

“Believe what you want, but you owe it to the people you’re defending to hear me out.”

“I owe it to them to kill terrorists like you.”

Dom’s fingers tightened around the handset until the plastic creaked, but he held his tongue. Any progress Shepherd had made with Kinsey had drained away, like water shifting through sand.

“I’ve got more important things to do than talking to you,” Kinsey continued. “So if you’ve got something to say, say it.”

“Fine,” Dom said. “My team discovered a cure for the original strain of the Oni Agent. We were forced to test it on ourselves, and I can report that it works. Side effects are yet to be determined, but we’re all alive and survived direct Oni Agent infections.”

“Interesting,” Kinsey said. If the man was surprised or at all relieved, he certainly didn’t show it. Dom couldn’t tell whether his lack of enthusiasm was part of the poker game he seemed to be playing or unadulterated skepticism.

“Has there been any progress at Fort Detrick or the NIH on a cure? If so, maybe what we discovered can complement it.”

“Don’t waste my time,” Kinsey said, deflecting the question. “I’m not going to share the details of our work with a traitor.”

“Then I take it you don’t care for us to share our findings with you.”

“I didn’t say that,” Kinsey said. “You trying to strike some kind of deal here?”

“Not at all. After this call is over, I’ll forward you and the people at Detrick everything—I mean goddamned everything. I can even send you the template materials—a seed sample of the Phoenix Compound—so you can start producing it right away. I don’t give a rat’s ass if you believe me, Kinsey. I just want to help.”

“Captain Holland, I know your type. You think you’re some hero with a manifest destiny to save the world. You think I’ll come crawling back to kiss your ass just because you have intel? It ain’t going to happen.”

“I would prefer to keep your lips off my ass,” Dom said. Shepherd gave Dom a knowing smirk. “And you can believe whatever the hell you want. That’s not important to me. But there is something I need from you.”

“I thought you said there wasn’t a deal. I’m not in the mood to negotiate with terrorists today.”

“I’m not negotiating,” Dom said. “I’m telling you what’s going to happen. Colonel Shepherd wants to get back to Detrick. I’ve got a couple of other navy midshipmen aboard who want to go home, too. We also rescued some civilians from a hospital in Boston. I want to get them to the safe zone we established on Kent Island. They’re medical professionals. Should be useful.”

“Anything else, Captain?” Kinsey asked. Dom could practically see the sneer on the man’s face. It took everything in him to remember that Kinsey was not the enemy. The man was only acting this way because he still wasn’t sure about Dom. Both of them were dedicated to saving their country. If only Kinsey could see they were on the same side.

“I’m sending one of my Hunters, too,” Dom said. “He lost both legs, and he needs more medical attention than we can provide. I’m entrusting him to you.”

There was a beat of silence. Kinsey probably hadn’t expected that. Dom hoped the general understood the underlying sign of trust. At the same time, he despised himself for using Terrence as political leverage.

“I can’t guarantee anything,” Kinsey said.

“In return, I’ve got one last gift.”

“Meredith Webb? I would love to sit down and have a conversation with her.”

A flame burned in Dom’s chest. Conversation? He had no doubt what Kinsey meant by that. The last person he knew that had had a conversation in person with Kinsey’s people was Shepherd, and the man had been tortured half to death. “No, Meredith’s staying with me. I’m sending you the original architect of the Oni Agent. Dr. Shigeru Matsumoto.”

“Bullshit.”

“See for yourself when the plane lands,” Dom said.

Another pause. Dom could tell he had Kinsey interested now. “I’m not letting your people land anywhere near Detrick. For all I know, this is some ploy to set off a dirty bomb and derail everything we’ve fought for.”

“I’m not a threat. I’m telling you the goddamned truth. You need us, and we need you.”

Kinsey seemed to consider this for a moment. “I’ve got a runway at Andrews. If we suspect anything, we will shoot that bird out of the sky before it has a chance to land. The 113th Wing is located there, and the F-16s are ready to defend our airspace.”

“Damn it, Kinsey,” Dom said, his frayed temper threatening to snap. “I’m not the guy you think I am, but if you cross me, I’ll become him.”

To Dom’s surprise, Kinsey laughed. It wasn’t exactly a friendly laugh, nor was it particularly menacing. “Spoken like a true hot-blooded American.” Then the laughter was gone. “Captain Holland, if you deliver me the goods as promised, I’m still not letting you on American soil. But I’ll tell my people out there not to fire on you. At least, not right away.”

Dom was surprised. Not by Kinsey’s apparent mercy, but by his admission, however minor, of operations outside the US. “You have people out here?”

“We may not have been as isolated as I initially led you to believe.”

“Then maybe you’re already working to stop the Forces of Global Liberation and their imminent weapons launch. Maybe you don’t need our help, and I can just sail away and disappear.”

Again, silence. Dom had hit a nerve.

“I’m not telling you what we found or how we found it. I still don’t trust you, Captain. But if you want to prove your worth, if you’re so goddamned determined to save the world, I can tell you this. I think your timeline is wrong. I think the delivery of this new Agent will be rolled out in two days. And while we’ve got people mounting operations in various parts of the world, things haven’t exactly gone our way.

“We can’t just bomb the shit out of these assholes in case the Agent gets into the atmosphere or groundwater. Because we, like you, believe an airborne Oni Agent would be a death sentence for all of us. As it stands, we have limited capabilities to launch on-the-ground missions.”

“Are you trying to ask me for help?” Dom asked.

“Captain Holland, if things are as bad as you seem to think they are, then yes, you can proceed with your investigation. If you turn out to be right and you’re successful, then I might be able to convince the powers that be to forgive your indiscretion in firing at our Coast Guard ships.”

Goddamn, Dom thought. He really is desperate. Things must be worse than I thought.

Could he and the Hunters really make a difference?

We’ll goddamned try.

“Fine,” Dom said. “But I want to know everything.”

Kinsey laughed. “There isn’t much to tell. Communications at the end of the world are unreliable, and several of the teams in Europe, Africa, and Asia have gone dark. Inexplicably fucking dark, Captain.”

“Are you saying we’re supposed to handle this ourselves with no intel?”

A pregnant pause. Then an audible sigh. “Yes, Captain, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

The door swung open with a crash. Ronaldo appeared by Dom’s side again. His face was ashen. “We don’t need his intel. We may have found the site of the distribution center. It is...not what we expected.”

Not good news, Dom thought. He covered the handset’s mouthpiece. “What happened?”

“My people saw massive amounts of activity in the Tangier harbor. Many boats. This is strange because the Moroccan government hasn’t spoken to us in weeks. We got some photos of the port, but our pilots were shot down. If I had to guess where something important was going on, I would put my money there.”

“Morocco?” Dom asked. He let the thought sink in. Tangier wasn’t too far away. The attack choppers could have been sent from there even without a ship to follow the Huntress.

“General Kinsey,” Dom said, speaking into the mic again. “We’ve just got word that the Oni Agent distribution center may be in Tangier. Did you send a team there?”

“We did,” Kinsey said. “I had an entire SEAL team in the area. We haven’t heard anything from the region in a couple of weeks.”

“And you did nothing to extract them?”

“Of course we did,” Kinsey said, fire returning to his voice. “But I told you resources are limited overseas, and communications have been unreliable. All extraction missions failed. This was not the only place where we lost recon teams, damn it.”

This must be some kind of sick joke, Dom thought. An entire recon team had already disappeared, as had the extraction team sent to find them, yet Dom and his crew were expected to swoop in and save the day. They were already down six Hunters, in addition to the loss of Adam from the tech workshop, and everyone else was exhausted from what felt like nonstop battles.

You don’t go to war with the army you want. You go to war with the army you have.

Dom steeled himself, knowing he might well be committing to a kamikaze mission. But he drew strength from those relying on his success. From Meredith to his daughters, to the civilians and midshipmen, to the millions of lives still scrabbling for survival from the Congo to Canada. He had no other choice. There was no backing down.

As much to Kinsey as to himself, Dom said, “Then it looks like our next stop is Tangier.”

***

Kara stood on the wind-swept tarmac next to Navid. At first, she had been happy to hear that her father was no longer considering sending her to the US. But then he’d told her he couldn’t keep her on the ship, either; it was too dangerous. If the FGL retaliated against the Huntress, she and Sadie would be in imminent danger. Kara understood, of course, but it didn’t feel any better to be stuck on this island while everyone she knew took off.

To keep her mind off things, she had helped load the C-130 that would take Shepherd, Rachel, and Rory back to the United States. The family that had been with them since Boston, Rich and Tammy Weaver and their son, Connor, had also boarded, along with the fourth Boston survivor, Alex Li. Divya and Navid would be going to the States to help set up the first Phoenix Compound batch. Navid would also troubleshoot any issues with the neurological tissue delivery systems production. As the medical lead on the mission, Divya had also helped ensure Terrence could make as easy of a transit as possible. The man had been loaded up with sedatives. Matsumoto had been brought on last.

Kara remembered when the old man had first been brought to the Huntress. He had had a glassy-eyed, wild stare. But he surveyed his surroundings now with the alertness of a falcon searching for prey. There was an intense curiosity in that gaze—an expression Kara had learned to associate with scientists like Lauren and Navid. They all had that look about them when faced with challenging problems. The look meant the brain behind those eyes was operating at light-speed, full-flow analytical mode.

Kara wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the change in Matsumoto.

“Ever since Lauren removed that strange brain implant,” Navid said, “Matsumoto’s been acting more like a normal human. He hasn’t spoken much, but it’s like a curtain has been lifted.”

“I thought so too,” Kara said. “You can just tell there’s something different.”

“I hope Chao and Samantha are able to unravel that device’s purpose,” Navid said. “It seemed like more than GPS tracking. I think Lauren’s hypothesis that it may have exerted some kind of mind control isn’t so far off the mark. It sounds crazy, but they were supposedly using stuff like that on the Titans.”

Kara shivered at the mention of the gargantuan Skulls. The Hunters hadn’t talked much about the giant creatures. She suspected the Congo held too many dark memories for them, especially with the loss of Renee. The bags under their eyes had only seemed to grow deeper, and the sallowness in their gaunt cheeks had gotten more pronounced every day. It was as if she were watching them turn into something worse than Skulls. They had paid an immense physical toll, and she could only imagine what their unseen psychological injuries were like.

She shook herself from those gloomy thoughts. The Hunters were tough, brave, and smart. They could take care of themselves—and Dom would make sure they were okay. “Mind control, really?”

Navid shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe not mind control, but at least some kind of influence. Spitkovsky’s device could have been keeping Matsumoto in a trancelike state or training the old man’s mind to work the way they wanted it.”

“That’s sickening. I mean, I have no sympathy for Matsumoto, but the idea of that kind of enslavement...”

Silence hung over them for what seemed to Kara like forever. She felt a twinge of something in her gut. Unease, anxiety. She still wasn’t happy about her father leaving to go off and fight Skulls and Russians and mad scientists. And now, she had to say goodbye to someone else.

“Navid, promise me I’ll see you again,” she said suddenly.

Navid turned to her, his big brown eyes full of emotion. “Kara, when Abby died...” He paused. His voice grew shaky whenever he spoke of his girlfriend-turned-Skull. “When Abby died, I thought I wanted to die as well. I was ready to go. Your father gave me a purpose again.” His hands shook as he reached up to sweep his hair back from his face. “And then I met you.”

He locked eyes with Kara. The rest of the world melted away. The wind seemed to grow still. The whine of aircraft engines went silent. It was only the two of them in that moment.

“Kara, you have shown me there is more than just survival, even in the face of the apocalypse. There’s life, too. You helped me get through the most painful moments I’ve ever experienced. I don’t know what the future holds, but I’m so very glad I met you and...”

He trailed off, his eyes focused on her lips. Kara took a step forward and placed her palm against his chest. She felt his pulse beneath her fingers, the warmth of his skin through his shirt. They’d both been through so much—lost so much—but they were here now. Alive. Together.

“I’m glad I met you too,” she said.

He bent down and pressed his lips against hers. She hesitated for a moment, not sure if this was the right thing to do, and then melted into the kiss. It lasted for only a moment, but she knew that moment would resonate in her memory like a gong echoing in a canyon.

Navid pulled away reluctantly, and the real world crashed against her. The drone of the C-130 and the crash of the waves. Someone’s voice calling to Navid.

“I will see you again,” he said.

He disappeared into the cargo hold of the plane with a final wave. She stood there as the plane taxied to the runway and then climbed into the gray skies. After the warmth of their embrace, her body felt empty and cold, like a tree with no leaves in the winter.

It took her several minutes before she could muster the courage to face the next goodbye. The base was abuzz with activity. Portuguese troops rushed between jeeps and transport trucks, loading up supplies for the Huntress. Vehicles crisscrossed the roads. In the midst of the chaos, she saw her father kneeling in front of Sadie. Nearby, Maggie beat the ground with her tail while licking Sadie’s face to comfort the girl.

And here it was. Kara’s second goodbye for the day.

She joined her family, wrapping her arms around them all in turn.

“I love you girls,” Dom said.

When he released Kara from a bone-squeezing hug, Meredith approached her.

“Don’t you worry, I’ll keep your dad safe,” Meredith said.

And just like that, something broke in Kara. Maybe she was just being a crybaby, but her eyes filled with tears at the thought of losing Meredith. Kara didn’t even know her, really, but Meredith was important to her dad and had been a good friend since joining the crew. She threw her arms around Meredith. The woman stiffened as if surprised by the gesture then returned the hug.

“Make sure he doesn’t do anything dumb,” Kara said.

“I’ll do my best,” Meredith said.

Then Kara let go, and her dad turned to her.

“You’ll be okay here. It’ll be like a mini-vacation on the island. And before you know it, we’ll be back to pick you up.”

“Sure,” Kara said. Her bottom lip trembled as she hugged her father. One goddamned goodbye after another. She could take this. As much as Kara hated the idea of being separated from the people she cared about, she knew it was for the best. Knowing she was safe at Lajes would take some of the worry off Dom’s mind and let him focus on staying alive.

Someone honked a horn, and Dom gave both of his daughters one more hug before turning to go. Soon, their convoy rolled away in a cloud of dirt. Kara wrapped an arm around Sadie and pulled her sister in close.

Once again, it was just Kara, Sadie, and Maggie. Two sisters and their dog, alone in the apocalypse.

So many goodbyes, so many promises. Navid had vowed to come back to her, Meredith had promised to protect her dad, and her father had sworn he’d be okay on the Huntress while she and Sadie were safe here on the island. Would they all survive the coming storm? As she watched the Huntress prepare to depart, she feared one of them would end up being forced to break their promise to come home safely.

-14-

The ship shuddered under Dom’s feet. From the bridge, he watched the port shrink. He tried to ignore the worry he felt leaving his daughters behind, but he couldn’t stop picturing Sadie and Kara’s faces staring at him with unshed tears in their eyes.

“They’ll be fine,” Meredith said as if reading his mind. Hell, maybe she could. There had been an unspoken connection between them for years, even before they’d taken their relationship beyond a mere working partnership.

“I know you’re right. Lajes is the safest place for them right now.”

“But knowing it doesn’t help, does it?”

He draped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Meredith leaned her head against his chest, her buzzed hair little more than auburn stubble. It tickled the bare skin of his neck. Earlier, he’d seen his eldest daughter kissing Navid at the base, and part of him wanted to march down to the med bay and give the young man a talking to. But as he held Meredith in his arms, he decided that they should all seize whatever moments of happiness they could get.

“What’s the deal with Tangier, Chief?” Miguel asked as he marched into the electronics workshop. Dom and Meredith sprang apart. “We flying in, diving in, swimming in, or running in?”

“That’s what I hoped we could discuss,” Dom said as he, Meredith, and Miguel were joined by Thomas. They all settled around the chart table. “How’s the ship looking, Thomas?”

“This old girl is damaged, but she’ll still get us there undetected. Our stealth capabilities are intact.” Thomas indicated a point along Morocco’s coast just south of Tangier. “We can drop you off here. After that, it’ll be up to you all on how to proceed.”

“Which is the million-fucking-dollar question,” Miguel said.

“Bingo, brother,” Dom said. “These assholes shot Ronaldo’s men right out of the sky. Having Frank drop us off at the port isn’t going to fly.”

Meredith raised a brow. “Was that supposed to be a joke?”

“Unintentional,” Dom said, but he flashed a grin at her. “Kinsey also lost men on a ground mission. His SEALs went dark, so we don’t exactly know what happened, but we do know it isn’t good.”

Dom traced a finger around the perimeter of Tangier. “I propose we use the Zodiacs to land here. After that, we’re going to push through the city on foot. And one more thing—we don’t have much time, so it has to be tonight.”

“Goddamn,” Miguel said, flexing his prosthetic fingers so that the hidden blade popped out. “I’m going to get to use this again plenty, aren’t I?”

Dom nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat as he called up the images Ronaldo’s men had sent before going down. Hordes of Skulls swarmed the riads in one photo, clamoring over the golden-brown buildings like termites. A few Goliaths towered above the others, hulking like overgrown, skeletal gorillas. Other images showed empty streets, but they didn’t look that much less bleak to Dom’s trained eyes. In every one of those homes and shops, packs of Skulls might be lying in wait.

“I don’t want to do it like this, but I don’t know another way,” Dom said. “I think we’re going to have to drive straight up through the city. We’ll use the buildings as shelter until we get to the medina. There, we should have a little bit more protection, but we’re going to be running into all kinds of doors and corners.”

Doors and corners meant plenty of places for the enemy to hide. Plenty of places to be ambushed and overwhelmed. It meant surprises every few feet, and he could see it in every one of their eyes that they knew any progress to the port was going to come at a cost.

Miguel whistled. “This ain’t going to be easy, Chief.”

“No, it isn’t,” Dom said. “But we don’t have much of a choice. I think we can fare better against a few Skulls than we can against anti-aircraft fire.”

“A few Skulls?” Meredith asked, caught up in his understatement. “We’ll be plowing straight through the hordes.”

“True enough. If you all have any better ideas before we leave, I’m all ears. My hope is that we can do this quietly and get our asses into that port before the Oni Agent shipment leaves. Because once it’s loose”—he mimed a knife across his throat—“that’s it.”

***

Andris hated the spray of the water across his face. He hated it because he liked it. This wasn’t a joy ride. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy the Zodiac bobbing over the waves or the addictive churn of adrenaline. He wanted to hate it all. Hate himself.

Because he had let Terrence down.

His mind replayed those moments again when he had hesitated. He had let the chopper scare him away from launching a rocket sooner. Because of that hesitation, Terrence wouldn’t walk again. At least not on his own limbs.

And whenever Terrence woke up, he’d find himself in some military hospital far from his comrades.

Andris knew what that would feel like. He still had nightmares about it. A wolf abandoned by his pack. He had been left for dead by the French Foreign Legion in Syria. It had only been happenstance that Dom had run across him. Blood had been gushing from the wounds in his chest. The pain in his abdomen had made him wish he were dead.

But he had lived. He had become a Hunter. And he had forced his brother-in-arms to sacrifice himself. Perhaps Dom should have left him in the desert to bleed out after all.

Stop it, Andris, he thought. This will solve nothing. It will not heal Terrence. It will not save anyone else. Focus.

“Looks grim, doesn’t it?” Meredith said over the sound of waves crashing against the small craft. The sun was settling behind a blanket of gray clouds. The effect gave the whole land a sickly, shadowy feel.

“Yes,” Andris said flatly. “Very grim.”

The Zodiac bounced over the waves until they reached the rocky coastline. Shabby stonework homes dotted the landscape, pitted by the weather and what looked like bullet holes. A long wall stood behind them. Portions of it had crumbled toward the shore. Andris couldn’t tell if it had been like that before or if it had fallen in the struggle to hold back the Skulls. He assumed the worst.

“I want to hit the shore in two teams,” Dom said. “Miguel, Jenna, Spencer, you’re on me as Alpha. Andris, you take Glenn and Meredith, as Bravo, up there. See that?”

Andris followed Dom’s finger to a minaret jabbing into the sky. “I want you to provide some cover. Scout out a route for us. We’ll cover any contacts on the ground and whatever’s in your blind spot. We’re going to leapfrog this. Stay alert. Stay cautious. But all the same, we’ve got to do this fast.”

“Amen to that,” Glenn rumbled. The big man’s jaw was squared, but Andris could see the hint of fear in his eyes.

He was reminded of words his father had told him as a boy, back when he had complained of being hungry. Back when he said he was scared the Soviets would take him away and send him and his family to Siberia.

A man who is afraid has a choice. He may let the fear consume him. Or he will let the fear power him. He will live better, be smarter, and act wiser because he knows what is at stake.

Andris and his comrades understood what was at stake. They were afraid, yes, but they would not let it consume them.

The Zodiac bumped against the shore, grinding over the rocks. It was time.

“Miguel, take point,” Dom said.

Alpha team shifted over the gunwale of the Zodiac like shadows melding into the night. They flowed over the rocky shore toward the walls encircling the city. Chunks of stone lay in piles, almost indistinguishable from the rock coursing with choppy waves.

“Clear,” Miguel said, posting up at the nearest opening.

Alpha team set up a perimeter under Dom’s guidance.

“Bravo,” Dom said. “Load out. Head to the tower.”

“Aye, Captain,” Andris said, fixing his mind on the minaret jutting above the other sandstone buildings like a spear thrusting into the sky. Under Alpha team’s watchful gaze, they spilled into the street. Carts crippled by broken axles and scorched wheels lay abandoned, some still with the skeletons of donkeys in their harnesses. They passed broken storefronts littered with plastic packages, and trash fluttering in the windswept street. Busted windows gaped at him like hungry mouths.

“Glenn, take point,” Andris said. “Check for contacts.”

Glenn nodded and pressed his wide hand against a wooden door to the courtyard below the mosque with the high minaret. The door crumbled. It was nothing but scorched wood, barely standing on its own. Andris was surprised a fierce wind hadn’t already taken care of it.

Glenn slipped in first. “Clear.”

Meredith followed, then Andris.

“My God,” Meredith muttered, crouching and shouldering her rifle.

Andris’s stomach plummeted through his body. Bones, long since bleached by the sun, were strewn everywhere. Dark stains covered the stone paths leading to the mosque like shadows that would never be lifted. Andris could almost smell the stench of blood cooking in the unforgiving Moroccan heat. Across the horrific tableau they walked, through the bones of the dead. Something cracked in a nearby alley. Maybe a sniveling Skull crunching over a broken femur or a feral cat surviving despite the odds.

His palms grew sweaty in his gloves. He stared down his rifle, scanning every shadow, searching every corner. He was careful not to step on a bone lest the noise attract whatever lurked in the darkness.

Across the courtyard, he thought he heard the scrape of claws on stone.

“Quickly, inside,” Andris said.

Glenn pressed himself against the wooden doors of the mosque. “Locked.”

The scrape of claws grew louder, closer. The wind no longer carried the salty scent of the ocean or the oily memory of streets that had once been filled with motor scooters. Now it stank of the unmistakable stench of carrion. Rot hung in the air.

“We must get inside,” Andris said. His tone was forceful, but he kept his voice at a whisper. “Now.”

Glenn heaved his shoulder into the wooden door. It creaked and bent but did not give. Sweat streamed down the man’s forehead as he strained to shove it open. The door would not budge. He bashed the door again, this time giving little heed to caution and quiet.

Groans echoed from the neighboring streets. The rattle and scratch of claws and talons tumbled ever closer. The smell. Like a tidal wave of rotting meat.

The first sallow face armored with pocked bone appeared. A monster created by manmade biological agents of war, teeth hooking from cracked lips, and stained claws hanging like bloodied scythes from its fingers. An unholy abomination lumbering on bone-plated legs, a demon born from sickness.

It was not alone. The rattle and scrape of others resounded behind it.

Andris threw himself at the door with Glenn, and at last the door gave way. The trio spilled into the mosque’s cavernous belly. Andris turned to force the door into place again, his eyes searching the room for something to brace against the door.

As he looked around, an electric current coursed through his vessels, sending his heart climbing into his throat. The very things he had sought to escape filled the mosque, a holy place made unholy by monsters.

The nearest of the Skulls reared back. Its mouth opened to reveal a mismatched set of teeth, sharp yet crooked. Then it screamed. Another joined the horrendous bleating, followed by another and another.

An unexpected image rose in Andris’s mind. He saw Terrence on the military plane, sedated and bandaged, escaping hell on earth as he ascended into the sky.

Maybe the man is luckier than I thought, Andris thought, appalled by the sourness of his own thoughts.

While the first Skull screamed, its claws raking for Glenn, Andris did not hesitate.

-15-

Being in the cavernous fuselage of the C-130 reminded Shepherd of his early days in the army, back when he was a noncom and being shipped around in a military jet like this. The hearty thrum of the huge engines. The drab canvas straps pressing into his shoulders. The vibration shuddered through his bones, making his teeth rattle.

Even after all these years, it felt familiar. Of course there was a slight difference, what with all the Portuguese men and women aboard instead of American troops. But the atmosphere was largely the same—some passengers somehow finding sleep, others sticking their noses in a paperback. Conversations far and few between, happening in excited bursts.

Opposite him sat Rachel and Rory. Rory maintained a white-knuckled grip on his restraints. The young midshipman had been a ball of stress flying across the Atlantic the first time, and this time seemed no better for him. Rachel seemed as composed as ever. The young woman was unflappable.

Nearby sat Divya, who looked every bit at home on the plane as she had on the Huntress. Shepherd didn’t know the doctor well, and now seemed as good a time as any to talk.

“This isn’t your first time on a bird like this, is it?” he asked over the growl of the engines.

Divya kept her eyes on Matsumoto’s biomonitors. She adjusted something on one of his IV drips. “I’ve flown on planes with wings that looked like they were duct-taped on. Crashed once flying over South Sudan in an old military-plane-turned-passenger-jet.”

“With the Hunters?”

She shook her head. “Doctors Without Borders.”

There was a faraway, nostalgic look in her brown eyes, as though she thought of those times fondly. He couldn’t imagine enjoying the experience of sweating his balls off in a foreign forest with bugs bigger than his hand and bacteria that would eat his flesh.

“I made and lost more friends during that time than at any other point in my life,” she said. The C-130 dipped, making Shepherd’s stomach flip. Turbulence shook the plane for a moment. When it ceased, Divya continued, “I don’t mean to trivialize your experience, but it was like being in a warzone. Sometimes we were in warzones. You went where the viruses took you, regardless of what else was going on in the world. Because the viruses didn’t care. They would destroy you in peace or in war.

“And at the end of the day, after staring death in the face like that, it was the nurse with blood spattered across her shirt while treating an Ebola patient, or a doctor, already sick with dengue but still treating a patient, that kept you working. Because they continued, so did you. They fought, so you fought. It sounds silly, maybe, but those were my brothers and sisters.”

“Doesn’t sound silly at all,” Shepherd said. Now he understood her expression. There was a brotherhood—a sisterhood—formed in the direst of circumstances. No blood relationship, no friendship, could match the intensity of that bond.

“So let me take a wild guess,” he said. “After those years traveling around the world, you couldn’t stand civilian life.”

Divya laughed. “No, there was something morbidly terrifying about settling down as a clinician, safe in my suburban office. When Dom tapped me for the Hunters, I accepted without another thought.”

There was a beat of silence as she checked something else on Matsumoto’s monitors. Then Divya turned to him, her head cocked. “I don’t usually spill my guts like this.”

Shepherd gave her a knowing grin. “It’s okay. We all enjoy a good war story from time to time.”

The plane shuddered again, dropping unexpectedly. But this time there was no turbulence. Then they veered hard. Too hard.

Divya’s eyes locked with Shepherd’s in an unspoken question. That wasn’t right, was it?

As if in answer, the plane abruptly dove. Several of the crew members jolted awake. The worried expressions on their faces showed even the experienced airmen and -women had not expected a maneuver like that.

“Something’s wrong,” Shepherd said. He moved against instinct, unclicking his restraints and standing. Strap by strap, he pulled himself toward the front of the plane. A few of the airmen joined him, speaking in trenchant Portuguese.

The plane lifted again, tossing several of them off their feet. A few tumbled backward in a heap of limbs. One hit his head against a seat with a sickening thwack. His limbs went still, and another man knelt by his side to help. Divya pulled herself toward the injured airman.

Shepherd continued toward the cockpit. His fingers reached for his sheathed knife. Normally, he wouldn’t dare approach the cockpit of an ally’s aircraft with a drawn weapon. But his time in the world of the Skulls had permanently colored his expectations. Nowadays when something went wrong, it tended to go catastrophically pear shaped.

As he wrapped his fingers around the hatch handle, his heart thudded against his ribcage. With a deep breath, he pulled open the door.

It opened with a metallic clink. A face swiveled toward him. Eyes, red from burst blood vessels, stared back at him. A crimson beard hung from the man’s mouth from where he’d been feeding. He had no bony growths jutting from his face, nothing to indicate he had been a Skull for long.

But there was no mistaking that the Oni Agent had wrapped its demonic fingers around the man’s brain and squeezed the humanity out of him. There was nothing left behind those piercing eyes now except for raw predator instinct and ravenous hunger.

The infected pilot lunged. There was no time to wonder how he had been infected or why. Shepherd ducked, barely avoiding the raking yellowed fingernails. The gnashing teeth chomped the air where Shepherd’s neck had been moments before. He shot out an elbow into the pilot’s stomach.

What would have sent a normal man to the ground only enraged the infected pilot. He swiveled on his heels, a growl escaping his lips, and attacked again. Shepherd tried to pull his knife across the man’s neck, but the pilot was too quick.

Pain rocketed through his back as he was slammed against a bulkhead. Stars sparkled in his vision, his eyes going crooked for a moment. The pilot’s hot breath washed over him, and he struggled to hold the man’s grasping hands back as his mind swam.

Shepherd’s world became a blur of red and pain, swirling like blood in the water, muddling his senses. He heard frantic shouts behind him, but all he could do was try to keep the grinding teeth and raking nails at bay. The plane lurched again, and the pilot and Shepherd rolled forward into the controls. Shepherd was vaguely aware of bodies lying in pools of blood nearby. The ferrous odor stung his nostrils, nearly making him gag.

Then he felt the weight of the pilot lifted from him. A few of the other airmen wrapped their hands around the thrashing Skull. A gunshot exploded, slamming against Shepherd’s eardrums. Another blast, then another. The concussion practically threw him off his feet, and he braced himself against a stanchion. He struggled to stay upright, his head swimming as the deck seemed to lurch beneath his feet. The damned Skull had rung his bell when it had slammed him against the bulkhead.

Another storm of voices echoed through the cabin.

It took Shepherd a moment longer to realize that his lack of balance wasn’t due to an injury after all.

The plane was going down.

***

Lauren spent most of her time aboard the Huntress in the medical bay and the labs, surfacing from her work only to find a few hours of sleep or a quick meal. But still, when half the crew was off the ship for a mission, she felt the emptiness. Their absence was made all the more evident by Divya’s departure. She hated sending the young doctor across the ocean, but someone needed to make sure Matsumoto made it there alive.

Not only were the corridors vacant, but all the patient beds lay empty for the first time she could recall since the outbreak.

Have they ever been empty since that first mission to the oil rig?

Lauren didn’t think so. Now her only patients had been sent back to the United States. She hoped she had made the right decision regarding Terrence. He would desperately want to get back to the fight. His best chances stood with the practiced military physicians and medical personnel she hoped were still alive and doing their jobs.

“Still thinking about Terrence?” Sean said through his CBRN suit. He was bent over a sample they’d obtained from Ronaldo’s people.

Lauren nodded, her own CBRN suit crinkling. “How’d you know?”

“Wild guess,” Sean said. “You’re like a drunk at the pub trying to drink from an empty glass, so distracted you forget you’re just sucking down air.”

Lauren laughed and then realized that was exactly what she was doing. Her pipette was positioned too high in the conical plastic tube she held between her gloved fingers. None of the liquid was going into it, just air.

“Damn,” she said. “I’m losing my touch.”

They finished preparing their samples for chromatography and genotypic analysis. Only when they were done did Lauren acquiesce to Sean’s suggestion that they grab a bite to eat and step away from the lab. There was nothing they could do now but wait for the machines to finish spitting out their data.

The Hunters had already departed for Tangier when Colonel Ronaldo had called the Huntress earlier that day. He had asked for Lauren by name and told her they’d found something interesting.

In this case, interesting had been an understatement. Ronaldo had sent a chopper to the Huntress bearing unusual cargo. The dead dog had been one of the many strays running around Lajes. This one had frequented Lajes Field, and according to Ronaldo’s men, it was one of the friendlier of the feral pack. Some of Ronaldo’s people had noticed that it went missing for a few days. They’d finally found it lying dead behind a warehouse—looking far different from the stray that had begged for scraps.

Yellowed, bony bumps had been protruding from the dog’s skin. Its eyes had been mottled with the telltale crimson, and the dog’s teeth had started growing wildly from its mouth.

But Ronaldo had insisted they had cleared all the Skulls from Lajes, that there was no possible way a Skull was somehow still lumbering around their base. It didn’t make sense. If that was true, how had this dog come down with the Oni Agent?

“I’m still trying to wrap my mind around possible vectors,” Lauren said when she and Sean finally took a seat in the mess.

Sean nodded, swallowing a mouthful of food. “Maybe the dog ate something already infected by the Oni Agent. Or it snuck out of the base and ran into a Skull. Got scratched and then turned.”

“Maybe,” Lauren said. Those were plausible explanations. Lauren wanted to believe one of them had to be true. But at the same time, she couldn’t accept them. A dog escaping a Skull with only a small scratch would be a miracle. Gnawing on infected material? More likely. “What if it found a dead Skull—or even a piece of one—that had washed ashore?”

“That’s a possibility.”

“Or it might’ve eaten some other animal infected by the Oni Agent—which is how Ronaldo’s people missed it. Say, a gull or something that had been gnawing on a Skull somewhere else.”

Sean visibly shuddered. “Birds spreading the Oni Agent. That gives a whole new meaning to an airborne agent.”

“That isn’t even funny.” Lauren looked at her watch. “Time to get back.”

They returned to the lab. Lauren transferred the genomic and molecular component data from the assays and input them into another computer. There, she ran a program that would analyze the constituents of the Oni Agent they had found in the dog. The software compared these constituents with that of the original Oni Agent, along with the strains of airborne agent they had discovered.

“Two minutes,” Lauren said, initiating the data analysis.

Sean watched the progress bar on the screen. As it inched across, pixel by pixel, cold roots of apprehension twisted through Lauren’s insides. She hoped the Oni Agent sample was an exact match to the original. If it was anything else, any kind of variant they hadn’t encountered before, then they were in trouble.

The computer pinged. Lauren held her breath. If it was airborne, if people at Lajes were already breathing it in or ingesting it somehow, then it was only a matter of time before they started turning into Skulls. She was never more aware of how limited their ability to produce the Phoenix Compound was than at that moment.

“Damn,” Sean said.

“It’s not a match.” Lauren felt dizzy and grabbed the lab bench for support. “It’s not the airborne strain the FGL developed, and it’s not the normal Oni Agent. It’s something new.”

-16-

“We got contacts, Dom,” Meredith said. “Dozens of ’em.”

She had only a half second to wonder if Dom had even heard her message. The next half second was spent in a churn of rising adrenaline and nerves firing faster than automatic gunfire. Charging Skulls hurtled toward Bravo team in a horde of slashing claws and hooked teeth. Gunfire erupted from Glenn and Andris’s rifles, leveling the first wave of ravenous creatures with a wall of lead.

Meredith flipped the selector on her rifle to automatic and squeezed the trigger. Rounds plunged through a monster’s face. Blood and diseased flesh sprayed from the exit wound. Meredith stepped aside as the fresh corpse slid past her. More of the ugly beasts took its place. Their wild yells echoed with the concussive power of small explosives. Their cries easily drowned out the soft staccato of Bravo team’s suppressed rifles.

One of the Skulls lowered itself as it ran, aiming a shoulder at Meredith. Huge spikes jutted out of its vertebra. Even if the monster’s six-inch-long claws missed her organs, the Skull could kill her by falling against her. Horns rimmed its brow, and wisps of black hair curled around them. A beard tangled in bony protrusions framed the creature’s open maw, a sad reminder of the human the beast had once been.

Thank God for armor-piercing rounds, Meredith thought as she plugged two into the beast’s chest. She swiveled, firing at the next Skull, then the next. Vaguely, she was aware of the Skulls pounding on the doors of the mosque, desperate to join the fray inside. Somewhere in the distance, she thought she heard glass break. Maybe even voices over her comm link.

But all of that seemed to fade away. Her vision narrowed to the line of sight directly in front of her. She saw only the red eyes staring at her with unquenchable rage. Each yellowed claw searching for flesh. Each overgrown ribcage heaving with the excitement of fresh prey. She fired, only just aware that she was retreating. She could sense Andris and Glenn being pushed into a corner with her. It seemed for every Skull they brought down, more poured toward them from the dark recesses of the building.

Blood and cordite hung heavy in the air, overwhelming the moldy odor drifting from what was once lush carpeting. More Skulls tumbled and fell, piling up where people had once come to pray.

There was no deliverance to be found here.

“We’ve got to move!” Meredith yelled.

“Yes, I will make us an exit,” Andris said. He fired a spray of rounds into the nearest trio of Skulls. Others climbed over their fallen bodies. Instead of reloading, Andris reached for something on his pack.

A grenade, Meredith realized. The man was mad to use an explosive like that in such a small space. But what choice did they have?

“Fire in the hole!” Andris boomed.

The grenade arced over the Skulls. They paid it no heed, throwing themselves into Bravo team’s blazing gunfire. Meredith’s rifle bolt locked back with a disheartening clink.

“Out!” She reached for a fresh magazine.

A violent flash of light bloomed from the other side of the mosque. A concussive wave lifted the Skulls nearest it, knocking over Skull after Skull like bowling pins. Meredith was already crouched, bracing for the impact, when the blast hit her, throwing her into the wall. Her vision swam as heat rolled over her. Pain drilled into her skull through her eardrums, followed by an intense ringing.

But she wasn’t the only one feeling momentarily disoriented. The Skulls scrambled over each other, tripping as they tried to stand. Andris pointed toward the opposite side of the chamber, past the stone pillars rising above the mounds of Skulls. There was a door hanging off its hinges. Behind it was a staircase. Meredith plugged a Skull near her with three armor-piercing rounds to its rotund chest then leapt over its body, bounding for the stairs.

One of the monsters reached for her, claws coming within a fraction of an inch of her face. She knocked it away with the stock of her rifle. Bone chipped and flew, spraying from the creature’s destroyed hand. Onward Meredith sprinted. Skulls writhed as she passed them, churned past the limitations of their now-mangled limbs. Glenn and Andris weren’t far behind.

At the door to the stairs, Meredith turned on her heel. She fired into the ranks of Skulls, prodding them back, doing her best to clear a path for her comrades. The duo rushed toward her, lashing out with the occasional elbow or jabbing a rifle into the jaw of a reaching Skull. By the time Andris and Glenn made it to the stairs, the Skulls had largely recovered from the blast. A few pulled themselves along with their claws, their lower limbs and torsos chewed to bits by the explosion. Others limped on ankles or knees bent at excruciatingly strange angles. Those that had been unharmed pushed past their injured comrades, surging in a second wave.

“Up!” Meredith yelled. She took point. She had no choice. The winding, narrow staircase barely allowed her to travel up it, burdened by her pack and equipment. Glenn and Andris struggled up the stairs behind her. At least the Skulls would only be able to take them one at a time.

She gasped for breath, pushing herself up one stair at a time. It seemed to take a very long time, but eventually she reached a heavy wooden door at the top of the minaret.

She threw her shoulder into it. The door flung her back.

“What is the hold up?” Andris said, just out of sight around the bend of the spiraling stairs.

“We got another door!” Meredith yelled.

“Then open it!”

She couldn’t tell if he was merely frustrated, running on desperation, or if this was one of his dry attempts at gallows humor. She didn’t particularly care either way, because whatever the case, he was right.

The goddamned door needed opening.

Meredith lunged at it again. Wood creaked, and she heard the crack of something behind it. The roars of the Skulls below grew deafening. Sweat rolled across her forehead and into her eyes. Gunfire burst right below her. Glenn had joined Andris’s last-ditch efforts to keep the Skulls back.

For a third time, Meredith threw herself at the door. This time it buckled inward and spilled her onto an empty precipice. Glenn and Andris were right behind her. As soon as they were clear, Meredith slammed the door shut. A broken board lay across the floor of the minaret under the speakers that had once called the city to prayer. There was no way in hell it would keep the Skulls back now. Instead, as the Skulls scraped against the wood, the voices spilling out from under the door, she placed the only goddamned thing she could think of back into the iron arms that had held the door shut: her rifle. The door shook on its hinges, golden dust spilling from cracks in the wood. But the rifle held it in place.

As soon as that problem was solved, another one erupted in her mind. Someone had put that board there. And that person must still be on the roof. Knowing her luck, that individual was probably already a Skull, waiting to finish the job the others below had started.

She swiveled on her heel and pulled out her pistol. But the only person on the minaret besides Andris and Glenn was long dead. His torso was bent over as if he were kneeling in prayer. White robes covered the rotting body, stained by bodily fluids and weather, a skullcap still secured to his withered head.

“The imam,” Meredith gasped, catching her breath. “Trapped up here alone.”

“Shitty way to die,” Glenn said.

“If we become trapped up here, at least we have another way out,” Andris said, gesturing to his rifle. Then he chinned his comm. “Alpha, we are atop the minaret now as you asked.”

“Awful noisy over there,” Dom called back. “Still got contacts?”

Meredith gazed over the side of the platform. Skulls lumbered all around the courtyard, clambering over each other. Most still had their attention on the front door of the mosque. They hammered at the door and windows and fought with each other to be the first inside. A few still scratched at the door to the minaret’s platform. But she didn’t think there was enough critical mass for them to bust the door down.

The Skulls she was worried about were the ones that had turned their attention skyward, toward the last place they’d heard gunfire. The first ones had started digging their claws into the stonework walls of the mosque. They ascended like bony overgrown spiders.

“Contacts?” Andris said, repeating Dom’s question. “Yes, we have enough to share. Would you like some?”

“You telling me you need assistance?” Dom asked.

“Affirmative, Alpha,” Meredith said. She looked over the side of the minaret. “And very fast.”

***

Dom leaned past the corner of a crumbling building. A van with deflated tires and broken windows stood in the street, as dead as the picked-over bones beside it. A couple of Skulls, their gray flesh wizened and dry, limped toward the commotion at the mosque.

He had thought having an eye in the sky would help their mission, providing them a tremendous advantage scouting the route forward. Instead, it seemed to have done precisely the opposite, halting their progress and acting as an unrelenting beacon to all nearby Skulls, drawing the creatures from the disheveled buildings and littered streets.

Dom glanced at the rest of Alpha, ready to leapfrog to their next position. He shot a hand signal to Miguel, and the Hunter charged forward. He twisted his prosthetic arm to reveal the glistening blade within. With a precise jab, the blade bit into an unsuspecting Skull. Gouts of blood poured out of the creature’s throat. Miguel gently lowered the monster’s body as Spencer sprinted to the next position, battering the back of another Skull’s head. Jenna went next, followed by Dom.

One by one, they worked their way up the side streets, eliminating any Skulls in their way. Dom’s pulse pummeled his eardrums. It wasn’t from the fear of facing the few Skulls. It was the fear of taking too long, of leaving Bravo to fend off the attack by themselves. Of letting Meredith down. He lunged out onto the next street, determined to get to them in time.

What he saw next made him jump back into the shadows. He had only seen the monstrous shape for a fraction of a second. Huge gorilla arms covered in unnaturally gargantuan muscles. A back lined with bony plates, each at least a couple inches thick. Tusks jutting from a massive underbite.

“Goliath,” he whispered over the comms.

“Shit,” Miguel said. “We gonna tussle with that thing, Chief?”

Dom weighed their options. The Goliath was already drawing away, heading toward the mosque, but a few long-distance shots from their rifles wouldn’t be near enough to bring it down.

“We’ve got to catch up to that bastard,” Dom said. “Or at least get Bravo out of there before the Goliath arrives.”

“Uh, and before that one gets there,” Jenna said. She nodded down another street. Dom followed her gaze. A second hulking beast was bounding ahead at full speed. It pushed aside abandoned vehicles and carts, crushing smaller Skulls that happened to get in its way.

“Christ,” Dom said. There was no more time for caution. “Take the alleys. Double-time.”

Miguel led the charge. The few Skulls they ran into went down in a flurry of blades and blows from rifles, but no shots. Not yet. With no map through the labyrinthine alleys, they found themselves at a dead end. Curtains and rugs left behind by deceased merchants rotted in the heat. Just a couple lonely doors punctuated golden-brown walls.

“Bust one of these down, Cap?” Spencer asked.

Dom surveyed the doors. There was no telling whether they would find another exit beyond. Then his eyes followed one of the lone, dangling black wires hanging from a nearby roof. He yanked it, and the wire came loose in a cloud of dust and pebbles.

“Open that one,” Dom said, nodding to the nearest door.

Spencer leveled the door with a single blow, and Miguel cleared the antechamber.

Dom and Jenna spilled in after them. Musty air overwhelmed the dark space. Dom vaguely recognized the structure as a riad. Rooms were built around a central open-air courtyard that allowed the house to breathe. A small pool was situated in the middle of the courtyard. Instead of crystal-blue water, however, mud and grime filled it. Sunlight blinked through the tears in a canvas awning overhead.

“Up!” Dom said.

Each step sent splinters of pain stabbing through his leg. He tried to ignore them. They traveled up three stories to the roof. Once there, they were met with a landscape of other roofs, all similar in design and shape, some pressed together, some offering wide canyons between buildings. Lines of neglected laundry still hung from wires. Tables and chairs filled the living spaces, and satellite TV dishes pocked the strangely Martian landscape.

A few hundred yards away, the minaret rose above the roofs. Spindly Skulls were scaling the tower. They fell in waves as Glenn, Meredith, and Andris knocked them down, yet still more climbed up the pitted tower for fresh prey.

“You’d think we’d catch a break,” Miguel grumbled. “Just once.”

“Fat chance,” Spencer said.

“There’ll be time to complain later,” Dom said. He stood at the edge of the roof. The next roof was only a few feet away. Surveying the options from there, he calculated a rough pathway to get them near the mosque. He could see the head of one of the Goliaths bobbing as it ran through the streets, taking a circuitous route. They couldn’t delay any longer.

Dom backed up then ran and jumped. His calf burned with the effort. Lauren would chide him later—if there was a later—and tell him that every time he pushed himself, he risked permanent injury. But he’d burn through every last bit of strength and energy in his body before he saw this mission fail.

“Bravo,” Dom said, “we’re on our way.”

Roof by roof, they ran and leapt. After clearing a larger gap, Dom hit the next roof and rolled, carried by momentum. He recovered and kept going, blazing toward the mosque as fast as he could. The closer he got, the more clearly he saw Meredith, Glenn, and Andris. They appeared to be taking careful shots, cautious not to expend their ammunition. With a glance behind him, Dom saw they had at least overtaken one of the Goliaths.

The other Goliath pummeled through the wall surrounding the mosque. Stones and Skulls flew, crashing into neighboring buildings. Like King Kong, the Goliath lunged for the minaret, ready to begin its ascent.

“Son of a bitch,” Dom muttered.

The Goliath bellowed. Its huge muscles coiled beneath the scarred bone plates covering its legs. Immense stores of power built up in that single motion, and Dom watched, a bolt of terror striking through his body, as it prepared to jump. Still he pushed forward, leaping over a gap in the roofs before the others caught up with him. The curses of the other Hunters fell away, all the sounds of the moaning and growling Skulls fading.

All he knew was the Goliath. Its claws plunging into the base of the tower. Cracks spiderwebbing through the stonework. Dust falling like silty waterfalls.

He could not let it reach Meredith.

The Goliath fought for purchase, but it was too heavy. It was dragged down under its own weight. Its claws left gouges in the side of the tower. Its feet smashed several smaller Skulls trying to follow it up. The Goliath cared no more for them than if it had stomped a stray ant or two. A frustrated roar exploded from its tusked maw, and it threw itself against the minaret again.

Then an explosion enveloped the Goliath. Smoke and fire poured from its body, its ribs peeling away.

“Eat that, you horrible thing,” Andris called over the comm link. The Goliath stumbled back, clutching its chest and roaring, its blood speckling the minaret. Now Dom and the others were close enough to smell the charred flesh. They provided fire support, raining hell down on all the lesser Skulls milling about. Tendrils of smoke rose as Andris lobbed another grenade down at the Goliath. A flash of light and fire, and the Goliath roared.

But it wasn’t done yet. Covered in fractured plates, bones all askew, and scarlet covering its chest and grotesque face, it charged the minaret. It leapt again with all its remaining strength. It slammed into the tower like a wrecking ball. Smaller Skulls fell away at the impact, squawking. Fissures spread with an audible snap and crack. It scrabbled for purchase for a moment longer and then fell back to the earth.

Then Dom saw something more terrifying than the now-dead Goliath.

The tower was beginning to fall.

-17-

“Is there another goddamn pilot on board?” Shepherd yelled.

No one spoke up.

“Are you kidding me? I’m in a plane full of airmen, and there’s not a single pilot?”

The stench of death seeped from the cockpit. Shepherd wiped away the crazed pilot’s blood from his face and searched the cabin. The man who had killed the pilot was operating the plane the best he could, which consisted mainly of trying not to push the wrong button and pulling back on the controls. But neither he nor Shepherd actually knew how to fly a C-130.

“I’m sorry, sir,” a man yelled over the whine of the engines. Sgt. Costas, his name badge read. “We were sent for security detail. We are not all pilots in the air force.”

“Fuck,” Shepherd spat. He shouldn’t be so angry. In the US Army, most people weren’t combat soldiers. They served in other roles, from technical support to intelligence to the guy manning the slop lines at an FOB. The Portuguese Air Force was apparently no different.

“What should we do?” Costas asked.

“Send an SOS,” Shepherd said. “Tell Lajes we’re going down.”

“We can’t,” Costas said. He motioned to the communications panels, all punctuated with bullet holes.

Shepherd cursed again. Some trigger-happy soldier had made a bad situation worse. “Then the only thing left to do is brace for impact.”

Shepherd left Costas, who was crossing himself and muttering a prayer. He moved toward Divya as the plane shuddered. “How’s the old bastard?”

“I’m not sure he can survive a crash landing,” she said.

He had expected fear in her eyes. But she stared straight at him, giving away nothing. Delivering a fatal diagnosis and not batting an eye. He admired the shit out of that.

“We’ve got to keep that bastard alive,” Shepherd said through gritted teeth. The plane shuddered and bucked. Air whistled over the fuselage, and the wings flexed as if they were going to break off. “We promised to get him to Kinsey.”

“I’ve got the old man strapped up tight as I can,” Divya said.

Shepherd looked at the Japanese scientist. He was cocooned in blankets and pillows, secured to a seat. His eyes were barely open, but his jaw seemed to be set as if he was in pain.

“Never thought I’d say this, but God, let this asshole live.”

“Amen to that,” Divya said.

Navid sat next to her. His eyes were staring ahead as if he were going to bore a hole straight out of the fuselage and parachute to safety.

“You all right, son?” Shepherd asked over the roaring engines. He heard a massive pop. Metal screeched beneath them, and he looked toward the cockpit. The Portuguese Air Force personnel were cursing and arguing with each other. That probably wasn’t helping, but he had nothing better to offer.

“I’ll be better when we land,” Navid said.

Rory looked as if he was going to throw up or start screaming. Hopefully not both, Shepherd thought wryly. He didn’t blame him. Not after their last rough Atlantic crossing and their crash-landing into the ocean before being picked up by the Huntress. Rachel, normally the stone-cold courageous one of the duo, shared his frightened expression.

“Hold on tight,” Shepherd said to them. “We’re going to make it, okay? This thing is built to withstand all kinds of abuse.”

“Even...even a crash?” Rachel asked, slowly turning toward him.

“We’ll be okay,” Shepherd said. Then he eyed the civilians. Rich and Tammy were doing their best to reassure their crying son. Alex Li was pale but stoic. There was a reason these individuals had survived when Mass Gen had been overtaken by Skulls.

Terrence was still unconscious next to Matsumoto. Shepherd prayed the man wouldn’t come out of this crash with worse injuries than he came in with.

The man in the cockpit yelled something back into the cabin, and the others rushed for their seats to strap in. Shepherd settled in beside Divya. He placed an arm around Matsumoto, determined to protect the old bastard if it was the last thing he did. He needed to get that man back, fully intact, to Kinsey’s intel officers. That was the deal, and Shepherd did not welch on his word.

Through the cockpit window, he saw flashes of green and blue rising to meet them. At least they had made it to land. Crashing into the ocean would’ve been one thing. Even if they survived, they probably would’ve been left to rot in the water, dying on lifeboats.

If they survived the landing.

What had been splotches of green morphed to forests and then individual trees. The forest had no idea what was about to hit it. All that green gave way beneath screeching metal and exploding glass. The cockpit disappeared, showering the cabin with debris. Shepherd’s head slammed back against the bulkhead. Screams and yells exploded all around him, and the air was sucked from his lungs. He couldn’t tell whether he was yelling or just silently screaming inside his mind. Everything was a cacophony of metal and wood.

Shepherd gasped when a branch impaled a woman seated across from him, tearing through her stomach. She wailed, clutching her abdomen, as blood seeped from the wound. Alex Li disappeared when the fuselage around him folded like an accordion. Those men and women who had been at the front of the plane were nothing but ground meat now.

And still the plane continued plowing through the earth, ripping up trees and leaving pieces of itself—not to mention the passengers—behind.

God only knew how long it was before the plane finally began to slow. Dust floated in the air, suspended in spears of sunlight stabbing through the broken hull of the plane. One of the engines still roared, pitching higher and higher until the snap of something breaking within it sent it screaming and then into silence. Metal creaked and groaned all around them. The odor of fresh dirt and spilled blood drifted on the air. Someone let out a howl of pain.

Shepherd moved his fingers. He felt his toes wiggle, too. Something clogged his nose, and he wiped it away with his hand. It glistened dark and red on his gloves. Just a bloody nose then. Might be broken; he couldn’t tell. But he was alive. He looked to his left, to his right. The midshipmen, Divya, Navid, Sergeant Costas. Alive. Matsumoto, cold and shaken, was still breathing in shallow gasps.

“Who needs help?” Shepherd called out. It was a stupid goddamned question. But what else were you supposed to say after a crash like that? He got a few stunned looks. Divya immediately went into action, checking Matsumoto over for injuries.

“Rory!” Rachel yelled. She dug past rubble to free him. Rory looked back at her with a dazed expression. He was clutching his wrist to his chest, a break making it bend unnaturally like a second joint. Shepherd’s stomach flipped at the sight. That had to hurt.

There were others hurt. He couldn’t see them all yet, but he could hear them moaning. A lone voice rambling in prayer.

Then Shepherd heard something that sent tingles down his spine. Something more frightening than the plane crash.

A single howl from a Skull rent the air. It sounded desperately close. And worse, it did not go unanswered.

***

The ocean crashed against the shore. Waves frothed over rocks, pummeling the land and then withdrawing. A constant back and forth between land and sea. And though the land looked as if it would always be victorious, Kara knew that eventually those rocks would be turned to pebbles. Those cliffs would give way, sinking beneath the depths that had attacked them for eons. Stubbornness paid off.

Maggie certainly understood that lesson. The dog pulled on the leash despite Kara’s best efforts to keep her in line.

“Come on, Maggie,” Kara said. “You’re done. You went potty. Let’s get you back inside.”

But the dog continued to pull, her tail wagging. The golden retriever had undoubtedly gotten used to her time off the leash. But on a busy base like Lajes Field, Kara didn’t want the dog to run around and get in people’s way. Worse, Maggie might take off to go exploring and get herself lost or stuck in some unfamiliar place. Better to keep the dog close.

“I know you probably resent me,” Kara said, “but it’s for your own safety.”

Maggie whined and continued dragging on the leash, barking at the shore.

“Fine. We’ll go for a walk. But it’s got to be short, okay?”

Who was she kidding? She could walk as long as she wanted. Ronaldo had instructed his people to give her a few chores while the Hunters were away, purely to keep her busy. She’d already finished with the cleaning duties for today.

Maggie led Kara toward a tree. There the dog stopped, suddenly still.

“What is it?” Kara asked. A few squat buildings dotted the hill near the tree. They looked empty, abandoned. Ever since those first few days surviving the Oni Agent, she had grown wary of spaces like those. There was no telling who or what was waiting inside.

She shook herself. There was nothing to be afraid of here. They were on a damn island. Safe from Skull influence and surrounded by military personnel. This was about as good as it got.

Except maybe her dad’s ship.

Maggie barked and dug her claws into the ground as though she was going into a defensive stance. Kara stepped back. “Come on, girl. What do you see?”

There was rustling in one of the houses. It sounded like something rooting around in the refuse of the abandoned place. The hairs on the back of Kara’s neck stood, and goose bumps prickled her flesh. A voice in her head said to go, to leave this place at once. But another voice said to investigate and see what it was. Probably nothing. But if it was a Skull, tell someone.

She searched the ground for a makeshift weapon. A couple of branches, but those would be useless against an armored Skull. Then she spotted a rusted shovel leaning against the wall of the closest building.

Perfect, Kara thought. She inched toward it. Maggie was growling and tense, her fur bristling. Kara grabbed the shovel, and then, moving slowly, she undid Maggie’s leash. If the worst happened, at least the dog would be able to get away.

“Stay, girl,” Kara said.

Whatever was making the rustling noise hadn’t noticed her yet. Holding her breath, she peeked in one of the cracked windows of the first building. It was caked in dust. No good.

She crept toward the next window. This one was missing a pane of glass. Slowly, she stood on her tiptoes and looked inside. She saw what appeared to be an ancient office. Computers that looked much too old to connect to the internet. Chairs ripped, stuffing pouring out. A few rotting wooden tables that had already collapsed.

The rustling sounded as if it was coming from inside this room. But there wasn’t enough light to see anything clearly.

I could just walk away, she thought. Go back and get help. Let Ronaldo’s people handle it.

That was probably the smart thing to do. But if it was a Skull and she didn’t do something about it, it might attack someone. She’d taken on lone Skulls before. She had a shovel. If it was holed up in here, it was probably already injured or starving, weak. She’d have plenty of time to deliver a few solid knockout blows before it even posed a danger.

On the other hand, it could very well be someone that had been looking for safety. A resident from another part of the island. Maybe they’d camped out here instead of approaching the base for some reason.

“Hello?” she called softly through the window. “Anyone in there?”

She waited a few beats. Maggie looked between her and the window, still snarling.

“Hello?” Kara tried again, this time louder. The rustling stopped. “It’s safe out here. You can—”

Something exploded from the darkness. She fell back from the window and landed hard on her tailbone. Her fingers tightened around the shovel as she brought it up to defend herself.

But there was no monster. Just a bunch of winged creatures flying out into the dusk.

Bats.

Maggie went wild, barking and jumping, trying to nab one out of the air. Adrenaline still coursed through Kara’s vessels. She wiped her brow and started laughing. Laughing at herself for being so worked up. Laughing at Maggie for trying to catch the bats. Laughing because she was safe for once and nothing was trying to kill her.

She was safe, and things would be okay.

The last of the bats filtered out of the house, joining the cloud of flying mammals swooping and spinning to snap up insects. Kara reattached the leash to Maggie’s collar. The dog hadn’t stopped growling.

“That’s enough, Maggie,” Kara said. “Let’s go home.”

Home? It wasn’t home, of course. The barracks where she was staying with Sadie was just another place to sleep. Home wasn’t back in Frederick, Maryland, anymore, either. Not since her mother had turned. Home, as best as she could tell, was on the Huntress. And the Huntress was at sea.

She had never thought of herself as a homebody, but all this running and hiding from the Skulls had made her appreciate the luxury of getting to sleep in a familiar bed every night. Of having a place where she could keep her things. Somewhere close to her family and friends where she knew they, too, would wake up the next morning.

But that was a dream. And there was no room for dreams when you lived in a nightmare.

She trudged through the developing darkness. The sounds of voices drifting from the rest of the base seemed far away, carried on the wind like lingering spirits. Trees whispered their prayers to the evening, and birds called, searching for mates or food as the final rays of daylight vanished. It seemed so ridiculously peaceful. A façade of serenity while the fires of hell raged all around, distant but not forgotten.

She saw movement at the base. Flickering lights. Generators humming. As she drew closer, she noticed a man near the trees. He was staring up into the branches. His fingers twitched as if he was waiting for something.

Kara followed his gaze to see a cat up there, looking down and meowing. It clung to the tree branch as if holding onto a life raft in the middle of the ocean.

“Is that your cat?” Kara said.

The man didn’t respond, reaching up toward the creature even though it was far too high.

“Is that your cat?” Kara said again louder. “Should we call the fire station?”

She laughed as she said it. The man cranked his head slightly but still didn’t answer. Evidently, he didn’t find it funny. Then again, he might only speak Portuguese.

Maggie erupted into another barking fit. She bent low, snarling. All the fur on her haunches rose, and her tail went down.

“Maggie,” Kara said. “Be nice. It’s just a kitty.”

Then it hit Kara. Maggie wasn’t barking at the cat. She was barking at the man.

A wave of adrenaline flooded like ice through her veins. Her hands felt light and empty with the knowledge she had left the rusted shovel back by the house with all the bats.

She understood now. Why the man was here alone. Why he was trying to get at the cat.

He was hungry, and his next meal had just waltzed right up to him and cracked a joke.

-18-

The minaret shifted beneath Andris’s feet. He looked for something to hold on to, anything to prevent him from falling the one hundred-odd meters to his death into the roiling Skull swarm at the base of the mosque.

He wouldn’t let Meredith and Glenn die. Not after he’d led them here.

There must be an escape.

“Bravo,” Dom called over the comm links. “We can provide cover fire. Can you retreat into the mosque?”

Scraping claws and roars from the door Meredith had barricaded answered the question before Andris could. The minaret shifted again. Rocks tumbled from its broken side. It leaned slightly toward Dom and the others, looming over them like a giant finger ready to squash them all like so many small insects.

“We cannot go back inside,” Andris said.

Dom pointed to the network of telephone and power cables stretching between the buildings. Some traced the air between the mosque and the neighboring shops and riads. But none were within reach.

Still, it sparked an idea.

“Meredith, do you remember our time in Boston?” Andris asked.

“That’s a damn open-ended question.”

“When we were trapped on top of that museum,” he said, already digging through his pack. “Do you think we can rappel again?”

He pulled out the coiled climbing ropes.

“I’m not sure rappelling straight into those waiting claws is the best idea,” she said.

Skulls were still climbing toward them, oblivious to the minaret’s fate as it shuddered again. A few small stones tumbled off the side of their platform, and the body of the dead imam followed, disappearing into the mass of writhing Skulls.

“I’m not about to jump down there,” Glenn said. He gestured to himself. “I’m a juicy man-steak. They’re going to want a piece of this.”

Andris looked between the door and the ground. Neither were appealing options.

“If we will not jump and we cannot go back inside,” he said, uncoiling the cord and tying it around one column holding the minaret’s roof up, “then we will fly.”

“Now you’ve gone mad,” Meredith said. She fired at one of the climbing Skulls. Its body somersaulted through the air until it hit the ground, splattering the courtyard.

“Trust me,” Andris said. “I am mad, but I have not gone mad.”

Glenn glanced at Meredith. “Did that make any sense to you?”

Meredith shrugged as Andris tied the other end of the cord around a loose stone.

“Dom,” he said, “I want you to catch this and tie it to something. It must be very secure.”

“Copy,” Dom said.

Andris hurled the stone. It soared above the Skulls and into Dom’s waiting palms. As Dom tied the cord around a support beam of the riad he and the other Hunters were standing on, Andris surveyed the Skulls. He tried to see if any of them had noticed the thrown rock or the Hunters on the other roof. None seemed to have taken their eyes off the minaret.

“Cord is secure,” Dom called back over the comms.

The Skulls pounded on the door. The platform shook beneath their feet. More Skulls yelled from below.

There could be no more hesitation. No more holding back. Glenn and Meredith would make it off this damned platform alive.

“You must go,” he said.

Glenn gave him a questioning glance. “Where, exactly?”

“As if you are zip-lining. Slide with your rifle.”

“You’re a crazy son of a bitch.” Glenn turned to Meredith. “You’re lighter. In case I break this shit, why don’t you go first?”

“My weapon is otherwise occupied,” she said, gesturing to the gun blockading the door.

“Go,” Andris said, shoving his rifle into her hands. “Go now.”

She looked as if she was about to protest, but he gave her a look full of steel. With a deep breath, she slid the rifle above the cord and gripped both ends of it tightly. She jumped off. The cord bent with her weight, and her feet kicked wildly, but she managed to slide down its length to the other side, into the arms of the Hunters.

“You must go next,” Andris said.

“I’m bigger than you. Safer if you go first.”

“No,” Andris said. “This is how it will be. You go first.”

Glenn’s brow furrowed, but then he sighed. “I’ll see you on the other side, brother.”

He went out over the abyss, accelerating down the cord’s length. Miguel and Spencer caught him, all three rolling backward in a heap. The minaret shifted again as more Skulls clung to its side. An eardrum-shattering roar exploded over the shrieks of the monsters.

Andris cursed.

Another Goliath towered over the other Skulls, swinging its fists, knocking the smaller ones out of its way. It stood at the base of the minaret and stared straight up at Andris.

This is most certainly not good.

The Goliath ran straight at the tower. It left a wake of crushed Skulls and crumpled bodies. Andris swiveled and grabbed Meredith’s rifle from the door to the staircase. The door shattered almost immediately, and Skulls spilled out, grasping and biting at him. He knocked the first away with a teeth-shattering blow then ran and jumped for the cord. As he got the rifle around it and started sliding, the Goliath bulldozed into the bottom of the minaret. Rock crumbled, and the tower shook. This time, it did not stop. Andris continued sliding as the face of the minaret avalanched away. Skulls that had been scaling it fell away, crushed under the falling bricks. The Goliath roared, impervious to the hail of stone, and watched Andris’s escape.

Time slowed.

Andris tried to focus on Dom and the others. The minaret was collapsing. And with it, the cable was growing slack. He started falling instead of sliding. He wasn’t going to make it. He kicked his legs. There was nothing but air beneath him as he dropped.

He was going to hit the wall.

No, no, no, Andris thought. He curled up into a ball. Not a wall. Wooden grates covered the windows on this side of the riad. He slammed into one of those grates, smashing through wood and then glass. Splinters and shards stabbed his fatigues, cutting into his flesh, and he crashed onto a hard floor. His head bounced against the wall. His whole world spun, and dark flecks swam in his vision. He struggled to right himself and pushed off from the floor.

His entire body hurt.

But he was alive.

Voices were calling his name.

“I’m here,” he cried back, unable to keep himself from laughing through the pain. “I’m alive!”

Meredith stormed down the stairs first. “Goddammit, Andris. You had us worried.” She stopped, drawing up short. “You look like a goddamned porcupine. You okay?”

“I am peachy. How are the others?” He still had a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. He knew it, but he couldn’t help it. Not after what he’d just survived.

“We’re good, but we need to get moving.”

And then, as if to emphasize her point, the bellow of the Goliath ricocheted through the riad. Andris wasn’t smiling any longer.

***

The agony in Dom’s calves grew with each loping step, and every jump doubled the pain. But all the Hunters were alive. He wouldn’t let his weakness slow them down now. Not when they had a pack of Skulls on their tail with a rampaging Goliath leading the charge. They retreated over the rooftops, past the abandoned laundry lines and satellite TV dishes, leaping over each chasm to the next roof, charging between decadent rooftop verandas and others filled with muck and slime.

At least the Goliath couldn’t seem to lug itself up onto the roofs. It did its best to follow through the streets, pummeling larger vehicles that blocked its path and crunching over abandoned motor scooters. Skulls trailed it like a pack of hounds. Those that got too close were trampled underfoot or ended up as missiles thrown by the Goliath at the Hunters. They splattered against the stone walls of the buildings.

“There!” Dom yelled. He took them to the east, away from the sea and the Skulls. The alleys there were narrower. He hoped to entangle the Goliath in the mazelike city; with luck, they would lose the horde of Skulls chasing them.

The Goliath let out a cry of frustration. Something crashed behind them, but Dom kept running. Then they came to the end of the rooftop road. A corner riad stood at an intersection where two main thoroughfares met. There was no gap narrow enough for them to leap across. There was only one option now.

“On me!” Dom commanded.

The Hunters filed after him as they ran down the stairs and into the house below, through the inner courtyard and past the bodies sitting in a pool filled with algae-green water. Dom kicked the door. It crashed open, falling into the street, and he led the teams outside. A few military vehicles pocked with bullet holes and marred by the silver scars of Skull claws sat abandoned and broken in the middle of the dusty road. They moved between the vehicles; here, at least there was plenty of cover.

Dom’s heart thrashed in his chest. His bones and muscles ached. He was too old and too injured for all this action. But when he looked at his people—Meredith and Miguel, Jenna and Spencer, Glenn and Andris—there was no chance in hell that he would give up. Not when they were trusting him to lead them out of this mess. Each was bloodied and battered, though none more than Andris, and still they were determined to see this mission through.

A few Skulls spilled into the street from one of the alleys. One was hunched, prowling with its nose in the air, slitted nostrils flaring as it sniffed for a hint of prey. Its red eyes searched the debris-strewn street, and its head swiveled back and forth.

Dom signaled for everyone to creep as quietly as possible. He gestured toward an alley filled with what once must’ve been stores. With each step Dom took, he was mindful of the broken lanterns and metal trinkets lining their path. Once-colorful carpets and clothing were now stained by blood and weather. Scarves fluttered around a store with shelves of what looked like some kind of tent-shaped clay pots.

“Down here,” Dom whispered, taking them around another turn in the alley. He didn’t know exactly where they were headed, but it took them away from the street.

The ghostly howls of the Skulls echoed down the alley, along with the scratches and scrapes of their claws and the crunch of taloned feet over the glass lanterns the Hunters had already passed. Although they were still pursued by Skulls, there weren’t as many now. They seemed to have split up after having lost sight of the Hunters. The Goliath’s low voice rumbled in the distance, and Dom hoped the majority of the Skull horde would follow it instead of them.

The Hunters rounded another turn. There were no storefronts here, just doorways and the occasional streetlight hanging by a wire.

“You okay, Chief?” Miguel asked Dom.

Dom looked down to where Miguel was pointing. The fatigues around his injured calf glistened in the moonlight. His damn stitches had broken. “I’ll be fine. You take point. Head north.”

“Aye, Chief,” Miguel said.

They worked their way through the alley. By this point, Dom heard only the telltale rattle of bony plates from what he estimated were no more than three or four Skulls. He signaled for Glenn and Jenna to hang back with him as the others cleared the path ahead.

“Take ’em out,” Dom said. “Quietly.”

“You got it, Captain,” Jenna said.

The trio waited for a few seconds with their rifles shouldered. When the Skulls came careening around the corner, Dom plastered the first with two shots to its chest then two more to its head. Blood wept from the fresh holes as the creature collapsed. Its brethren fell beside it. One let out a long death rattle. Its fingers twitched. None got up to give chase.

For a moment more, Dom had the Hunters wait, but the only Skulls he heard sounded farther away.

They caught up with the others, and Dom struggled to keep pace beside Miguel. He grimaced with each step. Each step was hurting worse, and his nerves were screeching at him to lie down. No amount of adrenaline would make the bullet wounds that had shredded his calf muscles feel better.

Miguel slowed as they passed into another alley that spilled out into a larger street. He paused, and Dom waited beside him, surveying the road. Like the rest of Tangier, it was filled with heaps of trash. Forgotten luggage and crates spilled open, telling the story of so many people who had tried to take flight. Dom imagined most were now Skulls. He spotted a convoy of military vehicles that had been set up in a sort of barricade at one end of the road. The machine-gun nests were empty and surrounded by spent casings.

On the opposite end of the street, he saw a couple more amphibious armored vanguard vehicles, or VABs according to the French Army. These VABs were covered in mud, and a fresh trail of wet tire tracks stretched behind them. These weren’t abandoned like the other vehicles in the street. These had just been used.

Someone else was roaming the streets of Tangier tonight.

-19-

Kara stumbled backward from the freshly turned Portuguese airman. His face twitched and spasmed as he growled at her. His lips tore back into a snarl, and long ropes of saliva spewed out. Red eyes like hot embers glared at her. The way he started and stopped, coming at her in spurts, made her think he was struggling with his turn. As if the human part of him was fighting against the influence of the Oni Agent.

Her foot caught on something as she backed away, and she fell. The man plunged into the grass to grab her, his jaw working on instinct, and he came up with a mouthful of dirt. He didn’t seem to notice as he pounced again.

“Help!” Kara yelled. “Someone help!”

She crab-crawled away and tried to stand. Her feet slid out from under her on the wet grass, and she fell hard again. Maggie tore into the man’s arm, shaking her head to tear into the muscle. The crazed man thrashed and snapped. His teeth bit into her shoulder, and Maggie let go with a whimper. The man tossed the dog aside, and she landed in a heap.

“Help!” Kara yelled again. The base wasn’t that far away. She could run for it.

Maggie stood on shaky legs and started toward Kara. But the man was faster, churned on by the rage of the Oni Agent. He tackled the dog. They went down in a ball of fur and talons. Dog and man battled, and for a second, Kara stood there watching helplessly. Maggie would give her life to save Kara. The dog probably didn’t know what kind of noble sacrifice she was making. She was just acting on instinctual loyalty.

I need to get back to the base, Kara thought. I need to get help. Leave the dog. Run. Save yourself.

She knew she should do it. Every bit of logic told her so. She was outmatched. The infected man was twice her size. She had no weapons.

But she would be damned if she let him hurt her dog.

“Asshole!” Kara yelled. She ran at the infected man, building up speed. The dog yelped and whimpered. Each yowl of pain stoked the fires of anger burning in her chest. With everything she could muster, she cocked back her foot and unleashed a kick that would have made a professional soccer player jealous.

The man’s teeth crunched with a sickening sound. Several shot out in an explosion of bloodied saliva. His head snapped back, and Maggie scrambled out from under him. Red streaks marked her fur, but the golden retriever didn’t let her evident injuries stop her from protecting her human sister. She stood before Kara, growling and snapping and barking.

Kara kicked the man in the head again before he could recover. His teeth clamped down on his tongue. More blood flew as he howled.

One more for good measure, Kara thought. Better to disable this bastard now than to let him wander the base to wreak havoc. She cocked her leg back and unleashed the power stored in her muscles once more.

But this time the man was ready. He caught her leg and twisted it. She fell flat against the ground, and the man pulled her backward. She fought for purchase, grasping at the grass and dirt, trying to thrash out of his grip.

She kicked again and again, but she couldn’t muster the same power as before. Then she felt the sting of teeth breaking flesh. Hot blood ran down her leg. She let out a yell of pain and frustration. Maggie snapped at the infected man. He swatted her attacks away, impervious to the bites he was receiving. He’d lost interest in the dog. He had tasted Kara’s flesh, and that was all that he wanted now.

“Help!” she yelled again.

Kara’s world started to disappear. She saw a vision of red and black as pain overwhelmed her, adrenaline no longer able to hold it back. She’d killed Skulls before. She’d survived much worse than this. But she’d let her guard down. She’d been foolish, grown soft.

This could not be how it ended.

No. This was not how it ended.

She twisted in the infected man’s grip. The motion ignited a fresh wave of pain in her savaged leg, but she still tried to aim another kick at the bastard’s face. The nascent Skull did not let go.

Something exploded from her periphery. Dark shapes crashed into her attacker, and he was yanked away. Kara pushed herself up, gasping to catch her breath. Maggie whined and curled into Kara. The dog licked at her wounds.

Kara’s attention remained on the infected man. Two Portuguese airmen wrestled him to the ground, pressing his face into the dirt. Another ran up and tied the man’s hands behind his back.

“It is okay,” a man said. “You are okay now. This man, he hurt you?” The airman’s eyes lingered on her wounded leg before she could answer, and he mouthed an O. “Let us get you to the medic. Can you walk?”

“I need some help,” Kara said.

“Of course.”

The man offered her a shoulder, and Kara leaned on it.

“My dog?”

Another man scooped up Maggie. The dog whimpered slightly but held still, and together they limped back to the base. The pain in her leg wasn’t as excruciating as Kara had expected. The scars along the side of her face itched, reminding her of the closest brush with death she’d survived. She had truly put her body through the wringer. Just like any of the Hunters. Just like her dad.

She steeled herself as they walked. She had no room to complain. She had just survived another bout with a Skull and lived, whereas so many millions of people hadn’t been so lucky. As she entered the medical clinic at Lajes Field, she wondered if her luck might be running out after all. There were a few patients in the beds already. No one seemed injured, but they were sweating profusely, their faces awash in pallor. Dread weighed Kara down like a stone wrapped around her neck.

“What...what’s wrong with them?” she managed to say.

“It is a flu,” the man she was leaning on said. “Or maybe food poisoning. We are not sure yet.”

Kara had seen these symptoms before. “Have you told Dr. Winters?”

“We did not want to bother the doctor. It is not nothing, but—”

The man paused. He seemed to suddenly understand what she was really asking. At once the blood drained from his face. He deposited her into one of the beds and sprinted from the clinic with no further explanation.

***

“We’ve got to get over there,” Lauren said, seated at the chart table across from Thomas. “We just found out a new strain of the Oni Agent is present at Lajes. It’s only a matter of time before the whole island is covered in Skulls again.”

“Shit.” Thomas rubbed a hand over his shaved scalp. He looked out over the dark horizon to their east as if he could see Morocco. “That means we’ve got to leave Dom and the others out there. I don’t feel great about that.”

“What’s the range on the helicopter? Can we still get to Dom if we need to?”

Thomas shook his head. “It’d be tight. Really tight. Not room for error...but shit, what am I saying? If we save Lajes, we’ve got access to better air support than anything we can launch from the ship.”

“Yes, yes,” Lauren said, more enthusiastically now. She needed to be on the ground at Lajes. But first she had to convince Thomas. “We’ve got to go. If this outbreak gets out of control ...” She let the words trail off. Judging by Thomas’s expression, she knew that he knew what was at stake. “You think Dom is going to approve?”

Thomas laughed. “You tell him Lajes is at risk of falling. Tell him the place where his girls are staying is about to be overrun from inside. What do you think?”

Thomas picked up a handset and called Chao in the workshop, relaying what he and Lauren had discussed. “Let Alpha and Bravo know we’re pulling back to Lajes. We’ll still provide air support if it’s needed, but they’ve got to factor in the extra time.”

The engines began growling as they set their course for the Azores. They slowly accelerated into the night, plowing through the dark waves.

“I’m always telling Dom how I want to be back in the action,” Thomas said, “but between you and me, I’m too damn old. I’d rather we take out the infection at Lajes with your kind of shots instead of guns.”

“Me, too,” Lauren said. “Can you put me in touch with Ronaldo? I want to get things rolling.”

“Can do.” Thomas picked up the handset again. “Lajes, this is Thomas Hampton of the Huntress. I need Colonel Ronaldo immediately.”

Thomas handed Lauren the headset. The line crackled.

“Ronaldo here.”

“It’s Dr. Winters,” Lauren said. “We need to set up a quarantine and contingency plan now.”

“I am listening.”

“The Huntress is en route. You need to do exactly what I say, because if you don’t, if one mistake is made, this is going to get out of hand very quickly,” she said.

“Dr. Winters, I—”

Lauren continued as if the colonel hadn’t spoken. He might be in charge of an entire air force base, but this was her domain now. “If anyone shows any signs of fever or subcutaneous hemorrhaging—”

“Any what?”

“Discoloration in the sclera. Red eyes.” Her thoughts were zooming ahead of her words. Every second counted, and she feared they wouldn’t get to Lajes soon enough to make a difference. “Anyone who seems sick needs to be quarantined. They must be secured. Tied down, behind bars. Whatever you need to do.”

The memories of Ivan rampaging through the ship came back to her in a flash. He’d merely had a scratch, but it had only been a matter of hours before he’d lost all semblance of the trained soldier he’d once been, morphing into a rabid predator who had almost killed Glenn and Divya. That had been just one man. For all she knew, most of the people stationed at Lajes were already infected with the new strain of the Oni Agent they’d found in the dog.

“I can’t emphasize this enough,” Lauren said. “If you even suspect someone might have the Oni Agent, you’ve got to isolate them.”

“I understand,” Ronaldo said. “We already have at least six suspected cases. How long will it take for them to turn?”

“I’m not sure. Anywhere from a couple of hours to a day or so. It depends on several different factors, including the strain of the Agent, the patient’s immune system....”

“Okay, okay.” There was a beat of silence. “Captain Holland told me you have a cure. For my men and women who are already sick, can you cure them?”

Lauren hesitated. The Phoenix Compound’s ability to resurrect someone infected with the Oni Agent depended on how far it had progressed and how damaged the brain was from the prion component. “It’s my hope that we can. But we must act fast. We’ve found that inducing a coma slows the progress of the infection and can greatly improve the prognosis. If anyone starts showing any outward signs of aggression, I’d advise your medical personnel to immediately place them in a coma.”

Ronaldo sighed. “That may be difficult. We have only a few paramedics and nurses. The doctors did not make it through the initial days of the outbreak. We are not exactly equipped for more advanced procedures.”

A pit formed in Lauren’s stomach. She had seen their medical clinic briefly before. It wasn’t much larger than the ship’s, and their supplies would be limited. There were nearly two hundred people on the island. Lauren might need to treat them all.

“Okay.” Lauren took a deep breath. “We’ll establish a secondary clinic aboard the Huntress. In the meantime, gather all the information you can on those who have been infected. We need to figure out how they encountered the Agent. Water sources. Any unusual behavior. If we find out what’s going on, maybe we can stop the spread.”

“Understood,” Ronaldo said. “We will begin the investigation immediately.”

“Good,” Lauren said. “When we get there, my epidemiologist, Sean McConnelly, will lead the search for the source.”

“Very well,” Ronaldo said. “I thank you for your assistance, Dr. Winters. Is there anything else we should do in the meantime?”

Pray, she wanted to say. Instead, she said, “Just follow the protocol I gave you, and you should be safe until our arrival.”

Lauren ended the call. Six individuals at Lajes were already infected. If they couldn’t find how the Agent was spreading, Lauren could only imagine how quickly the entire base would fall as the inhabitants tore each other apart.

She wished Divya were here to help. The doctor was no stranger to setting up clinics in dangerous settings, and her expertise would be invaluable in dealing with the outbreak. But Divya was somewhere over the Atlantic or maybe even in the US by now, delivering the samples of the Phoenix Compound needed to start manufacturing the therapy Stateside.

Lauren was all too aware that the Huntress’s own capabilities were extremely limited. And now, with the Agent spreading through Lajes, those limits were about to be tested.

-20-

The air smelled of damp earth intermingled with a hint of decay. Fog swirled between the trees like ghosts searching for the living. Shepherd pressed the rifle to his shoulder, desperate to see past the obfuscating haze. All around him, the world was a mess of gray and green. Trees seemed to jump out of the rolling clouds. Leaves crunched underfoot no matter how carefully he tried to step. The crispness in the air told him winter was biting at autumn’s heels.

A line of men and women limped behind him, some assisted by their comrades. Divya and Navid carried Matsumoto between them. The Weavers helped transport Terrence even as Connor clung to his mother’s shirt as he walked, tears trickling from his eyes. The midshipmen guarded one flank. Rachel scanned the woods with a fierce expression on her face, and Rory held a handgun despite his splinted wrist. Costas directed the Portuguese airmen to fill in the gaps of their defensive lines.

They had left the wreckage of the C-130 behind, including the bodies of those who had lost their lives in the crash. Shepherd counted nearly a dozen of them. He dreaded to count how many others might be hidden in the wreckage. The smell of blood and smoke had hung thick in the air near the crash site, and the fires from the engines were like beacons to any nearby Skulls. Another distant howl bounced between the trees. It was impossible to place which direction it had come from.

A few of the injured Portuguese groaned. One woman gasped with every hobbling step she took. Her ankle had been broken in the crash, and she limped along with the aid of a large stick. Shepherd couldn’t escape the memory of the woman who’d been impaled by a branch. She’d bled out before anyone could reach her. Not that they would have been able to do anything about such a catastrophic injury. Bodies and—Shepherd shuddered—body parts had littered the cabin. One of the civilians, Alex, had been among them.

Shepherd wondered if they should have stayed to search the wreckage more thoroughly. What if they’d missed someone who could have been saved? A few minutes later, the screeches and growls of the Skulls erupted from behind them. There was little doubt as to what the fate of all those dying or dead airmen would be.

“They found the plane,” Rachel whispered to no one in particular.

More howls filled the air along with the scrape of claws against metal. Skulls searching for food, digging for scraps of human flesh under the burning debris. The survivors continued westward at a slow pace. A crunch of a twig to Shepherd’s right caused him to stop. He swiveled, sighting the rifle toward where he imagined the noise had come from. The others came to a halt.

Shepherd counted off the seconds in his head, waiting for another telltale crunch or scrape. A howl or a snarling growl. Anything to let him know they were being stalked by a Skull. When nothing sounded, he gave the signal to carry on.

“Costas,” Shepherd whispered. “Radio.”

Costas nodded and gave him the handheld unit. Shepherd tried a few open and emergency channels, requesting backup, assistance, anything. They’d lost the C-130’s radio in the crash and had only a five-watt manpack. It had a maximum range of five miles, and that was if they were extremely lucky. So far, no one had answered.

Another snap sounded to his left.

Please be a deer, he thought while he stared down the rifle’s iron sights. A deer would be okay. Even a mountain lion. Do we have mountain lions out here? Anything but a goddamned Skull.

Another howl shook through the trees. The hair on the back of Shepherd’s neck stood on end, and his flesh tingled. His pulse pounded in his ears as he crept forward. The injured behind him were making quite a racket. It didn’t matter how stealthily Shepherd tried to move; they were no better off than the weakest among them.

A thought flashed through his head. They could leave those too injured to walk on their own behind. Set up a shelter. Try to get back with help.

Guilt immediately washed through him for even entertaining such a thought. Leaving anyone behind was a death sentence.

Another howl. This one behind them. It was promptly answered by one from ahead. Then another to their right and left.

“Shit,” Shepherd muttered. Surrounded. He didn’t need to tell the others. He saw it in their wide eyes, their quaking lips. They knew what was about to happen. The group bristled with weapons.

“Há!” one of the Portuguese women said, pointing. There!

A Skull charged from the fog with outstretched claws. Its teeth and lips were dripping crimson. Its overgrown ribs were cracked, and it wore ragged blue coveralls—a mechanic in its former life. The Portuguese woman swiveled with her rifle. She lit up the creature in a flash of gunfire. Bullets peppered its face and limbs with dark splotches. It carried on despite the rounds for two steps and then faltered, limbs tangled and broken.

For a moment, the forest was still. Then the ear-shattering roars of Skulls rent the air. Creatures poured from all directions, erupting from the fog.

Shepherd fired at one still wearing military fatigues and then another in blood-covered scrubs. He squeezed the trigger, plugging round after round into the oncoming pack. The shrieks of the Skulls shook his eardrums. A human scream sounded somewhere in their ranks, but he couldn’t afford to look, couldn’t afford to see who had been taken down.

All was chaos. Ripping flesh. Monstrous shrieks. Gunshots.

The scent of spilled blood, rot, and cordite stung Shepherd’s nostrils. Another Skull barreled toward him, hunched like a defensive lineman and built like one, too. Bullets cracked its bulwarked shoulder plates but did not penetrate its diseased flesh. The beast drew closer then jumped, soaring toward Shepherd.

His vision tunneled on the leaping Skull. Its nostrils flared, and its jaw opened to reveal crooked teeth. He fired at the monster’s chest. Bullets traced up the pectoral plates and into its mouth. The creature was dead in midair but still no less dangerous. Shepherd leapt to the side, barely dodging it. The dead Skull skidded across the wet earth, tearing a trail into the soil and plants. Another Skull in the remnants of a sundress bounded toward Shepherd before he could recover. On another day, the thing might have been comical. But humor was the furthest thing from his mind as the beast wailed and the spikes along its vertebrae bristled.

Three rounds, and it went down hard.

Shepherd’s bolt locked back. Empty.

“Out!” he yelled, fishing in his pockets for one of his hastily scavenged magazines. Before he could slam it into place, he heard a sound that sent a chilling wave of fear through his bones. Gurgling, like a pot boiling over.

Abruptly, he turned to see a skinny Skull with a protruding belly, dragging a bent foot behind it. Wisps of fog parted before the creature, and brown sludge dribbled out of the cavity where its jaw had once been. Holes along its throat and even its abdomen wept the same substance. Everywhere the acid touched left scars in the worn bone-plates covering the Skull’s body. Each drop that hit the ground sizzled and steamed.

“Drooler!” Shepherd bellowed. “We got a Drooler!”

He wondered if the Portuguese even knew what he was talking about. He scrambled to slam his magazine in place. Before it clicked in, the Drooler’s head cocked back, and the gurgling turned into a fire hose of acid.

“Look out!” Shepherd dove, taking one of the airmen down with him.

Another was not so lucky. The acid hit her flesh. Her skin bubbled and peeled within seconds. It looked to Shepherd as if he were watching a sped-up time-lapse image of meat in an oven. Her agonized screams wailed louder than anything coming from the Skulls’ mouths. One man tried to help her but succeeded only in burning himself.

It tore Shepherd apart inside to turn his back on her. But she was already gone, and there were others still to save. With his weapon reloaded, he wheeled on the Drooler. It had to go, but shooting its stomach would be like setting off an acid bomb. He aimed at the thing’s head. Three shots through the monster’s face left it crumpled on the forest floor. Acid poured from its mouth, scorching the earth, but Shepherd was already turning his attention to the next bony bastard charging from the underbrush.

The battle raged on until Shepherd was breathless and beaten. His lungs burned, and he could taste copper on his tongue as if he’d just sprinted a mile straight. Corpses littered the ground, and blood fed the roots of the trees. These twisted creatures, created by man, would return to nature. When all was still, when only the moans of the injured drifted through the fog, he almost felt like laughing. Delirious, he knew. Some kind of twisted reaction to the horror that had just unfolded. All this bloodshed, all this violence between man and Skull, and the forest didn’t give a damn. Trees kept growing. Flowers would bloom again in the spring.

Nature wasn’t bothered that humans had screwed themselves up, that they were fighting themselves to extinction. Nature would adapt even if the humans did not.

Get a grip, Shepherd, he thought. Get a hold of yourself, you old bastard.

He steeled himself and surveyed the group. Rachel and Rory were tending to someone lying in the grass. Divya and Navid had left Matsumoto to tend to the others. The old asshole was still alive somehow, and Shepherd let out a sigh of relief.

“Costas, I need a SITREP.”

“I am on it,” the sergeant replied. “We have three more dead, six more injured. Eight of the people who were already injured were attacked by the Skulls. Three survived.”

“That’s eleven total injured?” Shepherd asked. He was too exhausted to do the math, but it didn’t really matter. No matter what, they were in bad shape.

Costas nodded. “Yes, and just fourteen of my people still healthy.”

It wasn’t the healthy ones that Shepherd was worried about. They wouldn’t turn into Skulls. “Thank you, Sergeant.” To everyone else, he boomed, “We need to move immediately. Any Skulls we didn’t kill are going to be on this location like flies on shit.”

There were a few groans from those who couldn’t walk unaided, but no one complained. They understood what was at stake. He strode toward Divya as she and Navid hoisted Matsumoto up once more. Connor was crying, and his mother was desperately trying to quiet him. Blood droplets covered Rich’s face as he helped carry Terrence.

“Do we need Phoenix Compound booster shots?” Shepherd asked Divya.

“Those of us who have already had an injection should be fine,” Divya said. “But we don’t have enough to go around. Most of it was destroyed in the crash.”

Navid’s expression was stone cold. The scientist stared straight ahead, his voice flat. “We only have three full doses of the compound.”

“Three doses?” Shepherd asked. “You’re saying we can only help three people?”

Navid nodded miserably. Shepherd stared around the group as they began to march, venturing into the unknown and praying they were headed toward some kind of salvation. He feared what other enemies might be prowling the fog. But it wasn’t only the enemies out there he was afraid of. Their worst foes might end up being each other.

“Costas,” Shepherd said. “Try the radio again. We need to find help.”

That was the understatement of the year.

-21-

Meredith crept over the roof. She could hear the soft murmur of voices in the courtyard of the neighboring building. Barbed wire laced the rooftop. There were two sentries roving back and forth. Neither had any kind of night-vision tools, so she figured sticking to the shadows would be about as safe as hiding behind a wall, considering the darkness flooding Tangier.

“These are not the well-equipped men I would have thought Spitkovsky would have guarding his lair,” Andris said, crouched beside Meredith, his own night-vision goggles in place.

“No, they’re not,” Meredith said. The two men wore camouflage fatigues, but even from where she was Meredith could tell they were soiled with the grime and dried blood of combat. “I don’t think these guys are FGL. Not out here alone like this.”

“Maybe it is some kind of forward outpost.”

“Maybe,” Meredith said. But she could tell Andris didn’t think so either. “Could be Royal Moroccan Army. Maybe they got separated from the rest of their forces.” Then she pictured the military vehicles they’d seen in wasted heaps throughout the city. “Or maybe they are all that’s left.”

“They might be civilians. Survivors that happened upon this military equipment.”

Meredith frowned. Amateur soldiers could go either way. They’d been fortunate to encounter a militia in the Congo who were fighting to survive against the Skulls and help civilians there. But back in the States, Kara, Navid, and Sadie had been abducted by a more aggressive group, ransacking everything in their path and killing anyone who got in their way. They’d beaten Adam to death in some kind of sick, hillbilly Thunderdome. She wondered if these people fit either of those categories—or maybe something in between.

“Think we can get in for a closer look?” Meredith asked.

“You are the expert at sneaking and spying,” Andris said. “I am just along for the ride and to sometimes blow things up.”

“Then let’s do it.”

Meredith slunk along the edge of the roof of the riad. She took a moment to look back at the adjacent building where the rest of the team was waiting. Dom had sent her and Andris to scout ahead. If these people were FGL, then there might be a valuable lead to uncover. If they were some independent group doing their own thing, they still might have intel on the port and how the Hunters might best approach it. The trick was figuring out whether they were friendly. That was up to her and Andris to figure out.

“When that guy looks away, we’re leaping for the next roof.” Meredith pointed to the riad abutting the small complex.

One of the sentries paced around the west side of the building. Easy enough to stay out of his view. The nearer one on the east side meandered toward the opposite corner.

“Now,” Meredith whispered.

She and Andris sailed over the gap between buildings and rushed to hide behind one of the squat walls along the lip of the roof. She counted the seconds as she held herself against the wall, trying to be as small as possible. Andris crouched beside her. When she heard the crunch of boots over the neighboring roof carry on uninterrupted, she risked a look. Both sentries were still patrolling their predictable routes. She studied the compound, searching for any clues as to the affiliation of the people within. A large plastic tarp flapped at the center of the compound’s roof, presumably to keep the rain out. Voices drifted from inside, but all she could tell was that none of them seemed to be speaking English.

She studied one of the guards and noted a badge with a star on one of his shoulders. Royal Moroccan Army. Or at least that was where the uniform had come from.

Then she heard another sound. One she hadn’t heard in a while.

A baby was crying. Its wailing leaked from the compound, and Meredith’s skin prickled as she awaited the howl of a Skull in response. None came, and soon the baby quieted.

“A baby?” Andris said. “That is surprising. I am certain that Spitkovsky wouldn’t allow infants at his posts.”

“Weird,” Meredith said. She pushed past a couple of rusted metal patio chairs and tried to look through the windows, but they were all blocked by wooden boards.

“How long must we do this?” Andris asked.

“All night, if we have to,” Meredith said. “We’ve got to know for certain whether we can trust these people. Otherwise, we’ll just move on.”

“I would rather move on now. Playing spy is rather boring.”

“That it is, but—”

Meredith saw a cone of light spread from an opening door. Another man walked out with a boy who looked to be no older than twelve. The boy’s eyes shone in the dim light as if he’d been crying recently. The man was speaking to the boy in a calm, measured tone as he guided him to the edge of the roof. There they stood, talking quietly and pointing down the streets at various buildings.

More kids, Meredith thought. She reported their observations back to Dom.

“Hold tight,” Dom said. “It sounds promising, but I want more recon first.”

Eventually, the man and boy retreated into the complex. Wind rustled through the coils of barbed wire wrapping the building, and the guards were replaced. The hours went by without any other event or any indication to whom these people’s allegiance belonged. They were wasting their time here if they couldn’t get a lead. She was about ready to retreat and join the others. They’d be better off making their own way to the harbor in search of the FGL shipments.

But before she could move from her position, the baby’s cry pierced the night again. The guards went still, shouldering their rifles and probing the darkness around them. Meredith froze. Her pulse beat in her ears, and she listened hard, blocking out the nighttime sounds of buzzing insects and sighing wind.

A howl sliced through the still night air. A few more joined it, rising above the winding alleys and streets.

“Meredith, Andris,” Dom called. “Get out of there. Now.”

Meredith didn’t respond. She had seen the boy. She had heard the infant. There were innocents inside that building.

“We must go, Meredith,” Andris said. Then, as if reading her thoughts, he added, “They have survived out here this long. They can survive tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. You’re right.”

The click-clack of claws against stone echoed between the buildings below. Meredith spotted a half-dozen bright-green shapes charging the riad where the baby was still crying. The infant’s shrill voice was like a homing beacon for the creatures.

From Meredith’s vantage point, it would be an easy shot. She could level all of those monsters right here, right now, in a clean sweep with her suppressed rifle. End the attack before it even began.

She watched the guards, expecting them to do something about the Skulls. It should have been easy enough for them, too. You couldn’t ask for something much better than an enemy combatant running in a straight line without cover.

But the guards weren’t moving. They couldn’t see the Skulls like she could. They didn’t have night vision. She pictured the baby. The boy on the roof.

They didn’t even see the attack coming. It would be a massacre.

***

Andris sighted up the first Skull with his MK11. The ammo would blow a hole in the creature’s chest, leaving nothing but bleeding, broken ribs. But he held his fire, waiting for the order.

“How many contacts?” Dom asked.

Andris counted them. He had a better view with his scope than Meredith did through her NVGs. “There is a group of six coming from the south with four more behind them.”

There was a beat of silence. Andris knew his captain well enough to guess what was going through the man’s head. He was estimating what advantages defending these people would offer—few. And what drawbacks it would bring—expended ammunition, no guarantee of any intel, exposing themselves to greater risk. Logic would say to leave them to their fate. But as his finger hovered near the trigger guard, he already knew what Dom would say. After all, the captain had a weak spot. Any lives that could be saved, Dom would want to rescue, even to his own detriment.

“If you can take the shots to weaken their numbers and you’re sure you won’t get caught, do it,” Dom finally said. “Otherwise, I want you back here.”

“Aye, Captain,” Andris said. He pulled the trigger. The whoomph of the bullet leaving his suppressed sniper rifle was followed shortly by the first Skull going down. Meredith joined in, quickly leveling the first four Skull attackers.

Andris never pulled his eyes off his sight. He aimed at the next Skull, and after a squeeze of his index finger, its chest blossomed in a spray of blood and bone chips. Bony limbs tumbled, tripping up the nearest Skull, which Meredith promptly finished off with three shots in quick succession. More Skulls trickled in from the alleys. Their cries bounced off the walls.

Panicked voices sounded from the neighboring building. More footsteps rushed through the compound, and Andris imagined guards were being called to help defend against the imminent attack. Still, without the benefit of night vision, the defenders might as well have been blind. The moon was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds, giving them very little light to work with.

Andris took down another Skull, then another. His body seemed to fade away, his senses attuned to what he saw through the sight. Aim, squeeze, adjust, repeat. Over and over, he knocked the Skulls out before they could get to the compound. Beside him, Meredith fired with equal intensity, her suppressed rifle whispering death into the night air. Grim satisfaction filled Andris with each successful strike.

A rattle of gunfire called out from the neighboring roof, and rounds kicked into the dirt near a group of Skulls. Andris winced at the sound ricocheting through the streets. The defenders’ weapons were not suppressed like his. He wanted to tell them to stop, to leave this to him and Meredith. They had this handled.

Andris redoubled his efforts. If he could just focus and take out the Skulls farthest away, then his new friends wouldn’t even have a chance to take a shot.

And that was just what he did, plugging bullets through the monsters, one by one. He got caught up in the hypnotizing routine of firing and aiming, firing and aiming. The world seemed to grow quieter with each shot. Another Skull down, another small victory against the Oni Agent.

When the last one was dead, he finally took his eye off his scope.

“We did it, Meredith,” he said, a small smile on his lips. “We saved them. They better be thankful.”

Only they didn’t seem thankful. Especially the one with a rifle pointed straight at Andris’s face.

-22-

Meredith raised her hands. “Don’t shoot. We were only trying to protect you.”

The men exchanged curious glances and said something she couldn’t understand. They had surrounded her and Andris with military precision, moving like a pride of lions circling wounded prey. They remained just out of reach but close enough that there was no question they would hit their targets if they fired.

But they hadn’t fired yet. That had to count for something.

Andris shifted, and the men rattled their rifles, yelling at him in Arabic.

“Everything okay up there?” Dom asked over the comm link.

“Not exactly,” Meredith said. She opened her mouth to say something more, but the men stabbed the air with their weapons. She didn’t know what they were saying, but the gesture was clear enough. One of the soldiers peeled away and returned a few minutes later with the boy she’d seen earlier.

“Who are you?” one of the Moroccans asked her in a thick accent. He had a bushy mustache, and a scar traced his cheek.

Meredith’s mind whirred. If these people were allied with Spitkovsky, she couldn’t mention her association with Dom or the Hunters. Depending on how clued in they were to the global conspiracy, they might even know the name Meredith Webb.

“We’re Americans,” Meredith said simply. “We’re on a mission.”

“American, you claim.” His eyes were narrowed. “Why you here?”

“To stop these monsters,” Meredith said, still unwilling to give too much away.

The man looked to the boy then. The boy spoke rapidly, apparently translating for him. The man replied, and the boy looked back up at Andris and Meredith.

“He means to ask why are you here, at our home? Why are you on our roof with guns?”

“We wanted to know if you were friendly or not,” Meredith said. “Are you?”

Another quick exchange, and then the boy replied, “We need to know how you got here. Why you are in our country.”

“I told you, we’re trying to stop those monsters. The ones that just tried to kill you. Feel free to say thank you, by the way.”

The boy and the man traded words again. The boy looked uncertain, but the man nodded vigorously and waved his arms at Meredith.

“He says we are not stupid. We need to know what you are doing here, and how you got here. More details. That will determine whether we are friends.”

The men looked to Andris for an answer, but he deferred to Meredith. His expression told her he wasn’t going to say a damn thing. He was leaving this to her judgment.

Ah, hell, Meredith thought, might as well tell them the truth. Either they were going to string her and Andris out to dry, or they might be sympathetic to the cause.

“We believe the men responsible for creating those monsters are planning something here in Tangier. We think they plan to release a second wave of the biological agent that turns people into those creatures, and we want to stop them. Their distribution operations may be headquartered in the port. We need to get there before they ship out these new weapons.”

The boy appeared a bit confused by some of her words. He turned to the scarred man and relayed what she had said, an expression of uncertainty accompanying his frequent pauses. But when he finished, the boy looked back at her sternly.

“That is interesting, but why are you at our home?” the boy asked, pointing down at the roof again. “Why are you spying on us?”

Frustration trickled through Meredith at the language barrier, but she tried desperately not to let it show in her face. “Because we want to know if you’re with the people in the port.”

A voice crackled over the comm link as the boy and the man conferred again.

“Meredith, Andris.” It was Dom. “We’ve got these guys in our sights. Just say the word, and we can take them down. It’ll be quick.”

Meredith ever so slightly shook her head, whispering a soft, “No, not yet,” into her mic.

“Caught that,” Dom said. “We’ll be on standby.”

The boy stared at Meredith, his eyes narrowed. “You want to stop the people at the port.”

She wasn’t sure if it was a question or a declaration. “We do. Very much so.”

“And you are Americans?” he asked.

“We are.”

The scarred man spoke through the boy once more. “Are you trying to find the other Americans?”

Other Americans? Could that be the SEAL team Kinsey had sent out here?

“That wasn’t our main goal,” Meredith said, “but if we can find them, that would be great. We thought they were dead.”

The scarred man shook his head, speaking rapidly.

“No,” the boy said. “They are not dead. At least, we do not believe all of them are.”

A Skull shrieked somewhere in the distance. It didn’t sound like a hunting cry, but it made the mood even tenser. The scarred man said something else.

“You must come inside,” the boy translated. “It is better to talk there.”

“Are these guns going to be pointed at us in there too?”

The scarred man raised his hand, and the soldiers around him dropped their weapons. Meredith’s shoulders relaxed, the tension in her muscles fading. Only slightly, though.

“We, uh, have some friends out there.” She jerked her head across the street. “May they join us?”

The scarred man seemed to deliberate a few moments with his men. One of them shook his fist in the air, his words harsh. He seemed vehemently opposed to the idea, but in the end, the scarred man turned back to Meredith and nodded.

Once again, the boy spoke for him. “They must come with weapons above their heads. If it looks like you are trying to trick us, you and this man will be shot.”

“Deal,” Meredith said. Then, chinning her mic, “Dom, I just got us into the hippest club in Tangier. Meet us at the front door.”

***

Dom hadn’t expected this night to end up with him sitting on a cushion in the middle of a decadently decorated riad-turned-makeshift-military-outpost. But all things considered, it was a hell of a lot better than where the night had seemed to be going when they rescued Bravo Team from the collapsing minaret. The other Hunters were seated nearby with the guards. In neighboring rooms, others—civilians and soldiers alike—were supposed to be sleeping. Most had been woken by the commotion and were lingering near the doorways, eying Dom and his people curiously.

He tore a piece of bread and dipped it in some of the sauce left in the bottom of the clay pot in front of him. The food was good, and the glass of mint tea certainly helped reinvigorate his mind as it flagged from exhaustion. But every minute they spent in this place allowed the FGL to move forward with their plans. He pictured new canisters of the Oni Agent being loaded onto ships. They needed to find out what these people knew about the shipyards.

Across from him sat the scarred man who seemed to lead this ragtag bunch. Beside him was a boy operating as a translator. The boy—maybe thirteen or fourteen, certainly no older than fifteen—had introduced himself as Hamid. He had said this group of people had saved him and his brother from the Jnun, as the Moroccans called the Skulls, and treated their burns from an encounter with what sounded like a Drooler. When Dom heard of their wounds, he ensured each had a dose of the Phoenix Compound the Hunters carried on them.

Then the man with the mustache and the scar introduced himself as Lieutenant Jalil Lazaar. He had served in the Royal Moroccan Army, trying to defend Tangier against the influx of Skulls. But just as many militaries around the world had fallen, their own service members turning against each other in blind fits of rage, the Royal Moroccan Army had largely been scattered and destroyed.

Jalil had kept a few squads together and established outposts throughout the city. Even now, his men were prowling the streets and rooftops, looking for civilians who needed their protection. Jalil’s hope was that they could slowly retake the walled medina—the center of the city near the port—and establish a new settlement there.

But the men at the port had thwarted those plans.

“They fire on us when we approach,” Hamid translated for Jalil.

“That doesn’t sound friendly, Chief,” Miguel said. “Certainly fits the FGL’s MO.”

Dom wanted to ask Jalil if he knew a good way to get into the enemy base, but the translator was yawning, and Dom thought the conversation might be better suited for military-minded men. “Glenn, we could use your language skills.”

Glenn rose from where he was seated with a few of Jalil’s men. Without being asked, he’d already been talking to them about the lay of the land and gathering information in their native tongue. He joined Dom and Jalil.

“I want to know how we can get into the port facilities,” Dom said.

Jalil laughed when Glenn translated Dom’s demand.

“So do we,” the man said through Glenn. “Having a boat, any means of connection to the outside world, could be our salvation. We will defend this city as long as Allah intends for us to live here, but Morocco did not rise through isolationism. We will not face this new world alone, either.”

“That’s good,” Dom said. “But that doesn’t exactly answer my question. Let’s try this another way. What kind of defenses are around the port?”

Jalil motioned to one of his men. The man nodded and disappeared into a back room. When he reappeared, he brought a torn map to their table and laid it out. Water damage and coffee rings covered the map. There were words scrawled across it, rendering it almost illegible. But all the same, Dom recognized Tangier under the scars and stains.

“This is where their primary defensive perimeter is.” Jalil indicated a wide swathe of buildings around the port. “They do not have patrols. Instead, they have reinforced barricades with electric fences. There are several gates. Always convoys going in and out. There are machine-gun nests, but they are only manned when a gate opens or there appears to be an immediate threat.”

“What do you mean?” Dom asked.

“When my men were on a patrol near the port, they saw Hamid and his younger brother approach one of the warehouses for help. The guard ignored them and only reacted to the Skulls, as you call them, swarming the facility. He shot a few then disappeared back into the warehouse, telling the boys to shoo. That was it. He offered no help to the boys, and when more Skulls arrived, the man didn’t seem to care.”

“That seems like an awfully nonchalant way to deal with those monsters,” Glenn said.

“It’s true,” Jalil said. “They do not seem to care about the Skulls as much as we do. The creatures surround the port like sharks around a sinking ship. But the Skulls don’t attack. They just circle. I think they are scared of the electric fence and even the trucks going in and out of the facility.”

“Afraid of the trucks?” Dom asked. He’d never heard of Skulls being afraid of anything. “What’s in these convoys?”

Jalil shrugged. “We have no idea. They come from far outside the city.”

Miguel scoffed, and Jalil shot him an offended look. “Sorry, it’s just that I’ve never seen Skulls afraid of anything. I’m going to guess it isn’t the fence that keeps them back.”

“Shit,” Dom said. He guessed Miguel was right. The last time they’d seen Skulls acting strangely had been in the Congo. There, they had discovered the FGL’s efforts to control Skulls with Titans like some kind of monstrous Pied Pipers.

Meredith guessed his thoughts. “If there are Titans here, it might explain a few things.”

“But then why would they have machine-gun nests and barbed wire?” Spencer asked.

Miguel shrugged. “I think you’re giving FGL too much credit. Imagine you’re one of those guards. You get bored, you want to shoot something every once in a while. Hamid and his little bro run up, followed by a pack of Skulls. Perfect opportunity to have some fun before you go back to reading porno mags again.”

“I don’t know, brother,” Spencer said. “Still seems like an awful lot of protection if you can supposedly control the Skulls.”

“I’m going out on a limb here, but my guess is the defenses aren’t just about Skulls,” Dom said. “They shot down a Portuguese plane with anti-aircraft fire. You don’t need AA weapons against Skulls.”

“At least not yet,” Miguel said.

Dom shot him a look to tell him to knock off the jokes, but judging by Miguel’s cold expression, Dom knew he wasn’t kidding. Hell, maybe Miguel was right. The Oni Agent had been responsible for Goliaths and Droolers and Titans. Why not something that wreaked havoc from above?

He shook himself free of the dark thoughts. Those nightmarish fears weren’t going to help with the problem at hand.

“Jalil,” Dom began again, “we need to get into that base. You said you saw the Americans who came here before us. What happened to them?”

Jalil lowered his head as he spoke. “One of my men, Khalid, spotted them on the coast east of the port. There were several boats. Khalid tried to wave them down. He thought maybe they were searching for survivors.”

“How did they respond?”

“They took Khalid in for questioning. They were worried he was working for your targets, the FGL, as you called them.”

“And Khalid made it back to tell you this?”

Jalil nodded. “Once he escaped the Americans.”

“What happened?”

“The Americans went on their raid as planned. They did not succeed. The team never returned, and those left at the camp were overrun by Skulls. Khalid said the Skulls had snuck up on them, quiet, as if they knew exactly where the Americans were and quickly overwhelmed them. No howls, nothing.”

Dom was slightly skeptical of all this. Skulls sneaking around as if they were on a mission? Then again, he remembered how the Skulls at Quantico had adapted to stalk gulls without frightening the birds away. “How did Khalid survive?”

“He told the two men guarding him that he knew a safe place. They ran with him when it was clear the rest of their forces were gone.” Jalil paused, and Glenn looked at him, waiting for him to continue. “Khalid found his way back to us along with the two American survivors. But before they got here, they were attacked.”

“I’m confused. Did they make it back here or not?” Dom asked.

“They made it back here,” Jalil said. “But they were already dead. They turned into Jnun before we could even share a meal. We had to kill them.”

Dom pushed back from the table; he was no longer hungry. The story was getting a bit suspicious. Was Jalil taking them for a ride? “Where’s Khalid? I would like to talk to him.”

“Captain Holland, I have already told you. He and the Americans were attacked. We had to put his body to earth, too. I only know the story because he told me these things in his last moments of clarity, before the Jnun took him.”

“So that’s it? You don’t know anything else about the Americans or how to get into the port?”

“No,” Glenn translated for Jalil. “I wish we could help you, but I’m afraid it is a lost cause. These other Americans didn’t succeed. You will not either.”

-23-

Lauren watched as Sean and Peter wheeled another patient from Lajes into the quarantine room they had set up at the base. It was a crude affair, all plastic sheets and tarps, whatever they could scavenge. Bare lights dangled overhead, and the plastic curtains trapped the warm, humid air inside. She hoped they could trust Ronaldo’s people when they said the electrical system was fine, but the tangled wires worried her. This would never fly under a typical CDC quarantine protocol, but what else could they do?

Lauren’s breath fogged her mask. “How many more?”

Sean’s voice came out muffled through his own mask. “Enough to bloody well fill this room twice over.”

“I don’t know how we’re going to do it,” Peter said, perspiration dripping down his forehead.

“We’ll squeeze in more beds if we have to.” Lauren scanned the room full of coughing, feverish patients.

Peter shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I’m talking about the compound. We can’t possibly make enough.”

“Shit, Peter,” Lauren said, looking to see if any of the patients had overheard him. “Let’s talk about that somewhere else.”

Peter let out a defeated laugh. “These people are all in comas now. No one’s going to overhear.”

“They say some people can still hear in a coma,” Sean said.

Peter shot him a dubious look. “These are medically induced comas. Not some semi-comatose fugue state.”

“Come on, boys. We’re on the same team.” She checked the IV drips on the patient Peter and Sean had wheeled in. “So let’s act like it.”

The exhaustion was draining them. That much was clear. No amount of caffeine, not even one of Samantha’s energy drinks, could help them. They had been toiling in the lab to churn out batch after batch of the Phoenix Compound. While it was synthesizing, they assisted Ronaldo’s medical team with quarantining patients.

There was at least some hope; patients who had been given the Phoenix Compound were showing signs of improvement. The distribution of masks and intensified sterilization and cleanliness efforts around the base had also seemed to slow the spread of the Agent.

But that hadn’t stopped it. Somehow, the Agent was still spreading despite their best precautions. People were being infected at a rate that exceeded Phoenix Compound production, even though they were wearing masks and gloves. The scenes around the base reminded Lauren of cities following H1N1 scares, when it became an everyday fashion accessory to wear a surgical mask.

The crash of glass made Lauren jump. Her eyes shot to the makeshift airlock chamber at the lab’s exit.

“Ajude-me!” A voice called. Help me.

Lauren, Peter, and Sean rushed to the exit, hastening the sterilization process as much as possible without compromising the isolation room’s integrity. The sounds of someone thrashing about and more glass clattering across stone continued.

“Ajude-me!” The voice was growing more desperate.

They burst outside. One of the Lajes soldiers was on the ground, fending off an attack from another soldier. Lauren’s eyes searched for any hint of crimson, worried that a bite or scratch had already created another patient for her. She saw plenty of it. Shards of glass covered the ground from where either the infected man or the still hopefully healthy soldier had slammed into a window.

The pinned soldier was yelling in Portuguese. Lauren couldn’t understand him. But she didn’t have to. She could see the desperation in his eyes.

Sean and Peter rushed to subdue the infected man. They each grabbed an arm and peeled him off the downed soldier. Other attendants ran from the nearby medical clinic, hurtling toward Peter and Sean. Lauren sprinted into the clinic. She retrieved a dose of pentobarbital and returned to the scene. The infected man flailed against the collected weight of Peter, Sean, and the others. His yellowed, clawlike nails scraped the sidewalk. He shrieked in frustration, his body convulsing as if he were possessed.

“Let me at his arm!” Lauren yelled. She jabbed the needle in and shoved the plunger down. The man writhed as the cold solution pushed through his veins. Lauren helped keep his arms still, eyeing the dangerous weapons his fingers and teeth had become. Eventually, he settled, and Lauren stood.

Two paramedics took the man into the isolation chamber.

“Another patient,” Sean said. “Exactly what we needed.”

Lauren felt sick at the idea that another person was waiting on the Phoenix Compound. Another patient whose brain she hoped wouldn’t give out before they could catch up on production. But that wasn’t the worst of her fears.

“How in the hell did we miss this guy?” Lauren asked. “We’ve demanded that anyone who shows even a hint of sickness get to the clinic. People are reporting their neighbors whenever anyone sneezes. Yet this guy still goes full-blown aggressive before we can take him in.”

“People are wearing masks,” Sean said. “They’re afraid to talk to each other.”

Lauren raised a brow. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I’d be surprised if he got infected by someone else. The original vector is still out there.”

Lauren leaned against the clinic’s wall. She wanted to sit down, to have a cup of coffee. To sleep. The weight of her eyelids threatened to pull her whole body down to the ground. But there were too many lives depending on her. “Do we have any leads? Any at all?”

“I’ve been attempting to interview people,” Sean said. “Trying to find a patient zero. But between helping with Phoenix production and treating the patients, I’ve gotten precious little done.”

“Then I want you to devote everything to this task. No more distractions.”

Peter’s eyes grew wide. “That means you and I will need to do production and head up these clinics alone?”

“Until we nip this thing, we’ll do what we have to,” Lauren said. “We’ve got enough barbiturates to keep our current patient load under for another day and a half at most. If more patients arrive—and it sure as hell looks like that’s going to be the case—then that deadline gets moved up. If we can’t keep these people in comas, we’ll start to lose them. The Agent will progress too fast. We’ll have more Skulls than we know what to do with.”

“We know exactly what to do with them,” Peter said darkly.

Sean grimaced, but Lauren was too exhausted to react. As much progress as they had made with the Phoenix Compound, there was only one effective way to treat a person who had gone full-blown Skull.

A bullet to the head.

***

“We can treat only three goddamn patients?” Shepherd repeated to Divya as they marched through the dark woods. He did his best to ignore the moans of the wounded. Asking them to be quiet seemed to have little effect.

Sergeant Costas marched beside them, with Navid trailing just behind. Rory and Rachel were helping a couple of the wounded airmen and women hobble along in the fog-covered darkness.

“If I stretch the treatments—I mean really stretch them—I might be able to help five people,” Divya said.

“What about that old chelation treatment you had before the Phoenix Compound?”

Divya shook her head. “We don’t have any on hand,” she said.

“There is nothing we can do to save the others?” Costas asked.

Defeat hung in the air between the trio. Divya’s words did nothing to alleviate it. “I am afraid not. The best thing we can do is hope we hear from the military soon. Last we knew, they were at least using the chelation treatment on their people.”

“Would this chelation treatment heal them?” Costas asked.

“It would hold back the Oni Agent if we treat them soon,” Divya said.

Costas scanned the channels on the radio again. Shepherd could understand the look on the man’s face. He was responsible for these people—and he was the one that would have to tell them they were going to die.

“You have to do it soon,” Shepherd said.

Costas nodded reluctantly. “I know. But I am hoping that we can reach your military first.”

“We can’t wait,” Shepherd said. “We’ve got to do something now. Otherwise, we’re walking around with a pack of ticking time bombs.”

“Yes, of course,” Costas said, looking as if he’d swallowed a mouthful of rotten food. Then he said to Divya, “You think we can save five people?”

“Like I said, that’s stretching it,” she replied. “Really, it’s a risk. We haven’t thoroughly tested the Phoenix Compound to know the proper dosage range.”

“Five people, please,” Costas tried again, looking as if he was pleading for his life. “At least tell me we can try.”

“Yes, we can try,” Divya said. “I can’t guarantee it will work, though.”

“I understand,” Costas said. “No one can guarantee anything anymore. Not when God has abandoned us and Satan walks the Earth.” He crossed himself. “I will tell them.” He looked at Shepherd then Divya. “I take it you will make me decide who gets the treatment.”

Shepherd nodded solemnly. “You know your people better than we do.”

“This is true,” Costas said. They trudged along in silence for a few moments before Costas locked eyes with Shepherd. “If you were in my position, who would you choose?”

Shepherd’s stomach twisted. He could imagine being in the sergeant’s shoes, and the idea of making that kind of decision was terrible. “Triage first. The most injured are the least likely to survive anyway. Then look to those who could help us fulfill our mission.”

Costas nodded as if he were a teacher approving of his student’s answer. “You would choose the strongest. The ones who could still hold a gun.”

“I would.”

Costas closed his eyes for a moment. “Then that is what I must do.”

Shepherd looked over their Portuguese escorts. Nine of the survivors had been scratched or bitten by the Skulls. Nine potential Skulls walking in their ranks.

Goddammit.

Costas continued marching alongside Shepherd, but the sergeant’s eyes roved over his people. He surveyed them like a buyer at a cattle auction, scanning up and down their bodies, cataloguing injures. Undoubtedly making tallies in his mind and prioritizing whom he could trust to make this FUBAR mission slightly more likely to succeed.

Maybe they were doomed to die out here in the woods alone. That’d be ironic. Or something. A great big cosmic joke. Shepherd shook his head as if to clear it of his jumbled thoughts. He needed to concentrate.

Costas let out a sorrowful sigh and toyed with the radio. “Let me try once more. Once more before I condemn my own people.”

“Of course,” Shepherd said. “Good idea.”

Costas tried the dials and moved through the channels. This was the part in the movies where a beam of light would peek through the fog. This was when the radio would spark with a voice, distant and crackling at first then slowly becoming clearer as they homed in on the frequency.

“Please, anyone,” Costas said in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “We request immediate assistance.”

Now was the perfect time for someone to respond. To tell them help was on the way, that the US military was rolling out the cavalry.

But this was no movie. It was a goddamn nightmare. And in nightmares, the bad things didn’t stop until you woke up. Shepherd was pretty damn sure he was never going to wake up again.

No one answered Costas’s hails. No static-laden voice. Nothing.

All they could do was carry on in what they hoped was the right direction.

Costas’s face seemed to drain of what little life had been left in him. “There is no putting it off. It’s time to tell them.” He started to turn but then stopped. His face appeared almost green now. “What about those we are condemning? They are as good as dead, and if they’re going to turn like you say, they’re a danger to all of us.”

The sergeant was right. The others would be a danger. A pang of shame stabbed through him at the first solution that crowded his mind: eliminate all the infected now.

Costas seemed to be thinking the same thing. “I will tell these people that they will not get the treatment, but I will not kill them with my own hands. I cannot do that.”

“No,” Shepherd replied. The weight of this decision pressed over him, threatening to crush him into the wet soil beneath his feet. Logic told him that made sense. They had already decided the fate of those that were infected and wouldn’t be treated; it was a cruel thing to let them turn. But all the same, he couldn’t fathom shooting these men and women in cold blood. At least, not while they were still human and the Oni Agent hadn’t dug its claws into their brain, raking their souls from their mind. “We won’t do that.”

Costas’s eyes lifted as if he was surprised.

“Maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll find the military and we still won’t be out of time.”

“Yes, maybe,” Costas said, clinging to those shreds of hope like a shipwrecked man on a log in the ocean.

“But we still need to impress upon them the importance of what’s about to happen. If they start feeling the effects of the Agent, if anyone thinks they might be turning, we’ll need to know. We’ll have to tie them up or...”

“I understand,” Costas said. “I will tell them.”

The sergeant turned and held up his hands for a halt. He directed a few of the airmen to form a perimeter, and then he told his people that only some of them would live. Shepherd couldn’t understand Portuguese, but he could understand the expressions on their faces. A couple remained stolid as if the words meant nothing to them. They were driven by duty and fate alone. Several fell ashen and mournful, maybe grieving their own imminent death and the deaths of their brothers and sisters. Others turned red in anger, yelling and cursing. Costas’s own face quaked as he struggled to remain steadfast in his decision. Shepherd tried to convey an equal measure of sternness, a textbook example of what might be expected of a strategic commander in such a situation. He couldn’t see his own face, of course, but he doubted he was successful.

Still, a single stubborn thought betrayed logic, hosting a weak spark of optimism that maybe they would actually find help before these people turned. Just as he had told Costas.

But Shepherd wasn’t fooled by the lies he and Costas shared. The ephemeral hope that maybe there was someone looking out for them that wouldn’t afflict their ragtag band with yet more death and suffering. Most of them would die, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing anyone could do but to pray.

Shepherd sighed.

No one was answering prayers these days.

-24-

Candlelight flickered across the faces of those gathered around the low table in the riad. The air smelled of humans confined together without access to running water. Soot and dirt covered the floor, tracked in from the recent return of another of Jalil’s scouting groups. Their faces were ashen, and they offered very little in the way of explanation except to say, as Glenn translated, “It is very bad out there.”

The men disappeared into another room to shed their equipment and then returned to join the others for food.

Meredith watched over the scene, contemplating just how bad it really was out there. The Skulls were certainly rampant in Tangier. There was no mistaking the threat they posed. But more worrisome was the clock she pictured ticking down until Spitkovsky’s shipments left the port for good, setting into motion the next phase of his plan.

“There must be a way into that port,” she said.

“Close, yes,” Jalil said. “But getting past the gates and their guards is beyond anything I can hope to achieve.”

“We just need a few minutes with their goddamn ships.” Dom was cleaning his rifle as he spoke. “Give Andris a chance to plant his explosives and kill their propellers. Maybe sabotage their fuel depots. There’s got to be some way.”

“I am sorry,” Jalil said. “If I knew, I would tell you.”

Maybe they could create some distraction. Stage an attack at another gate, as they had done in the Congo. But as she looked around the pitiful riad, Meredith realized the plan would never work. Jalil didn’t have nearly the number of people Alizia had in the Congo. She had been in charge of a veritable army. The men here looked worn and haggard, stretched to the breaking point. They would be slaughtered. And quickly.

“I could blow us a way in,” Andris said.

“Nah, bro,” Miguel said. “In and out, quiet as cats, right, Chief?”

“Right,” Dom said. “The less attention we attract from Skulls and the FGL, the better.”

“At least we have a day or so before they start shipping,” Jenna said. “We can afford to be cautious.”

“Our intel might not be good. They might be shipping it out tonight, for all we know.”

“Which makes getting in there all the more important,” Dom said. “If Jalil doesn’t have anything for us, then I propose we stake out the port. We’ll have to see if we can identify any and all points of entry, watch them closely, and find any weaknesses in their defenses. It’s the best we can do.”

Dom and Meredith had run similar missions plenty of times in their CIA days, countless long nights and days staking out suspected bioterrorists. The waiting was the price of the intel. Better to operate with a comprehensive understanding of who you were facing and what their weaknesses were than go in with guns blazing.

Except right now, time was most definitely not on their side.

“We can’t wait for more than an hour or two,” Meredith said, “but even if we spent a whole night out there, we might not get much more than we already know from Jalil.”

“Unless we get lucky,” Miguel said. “Maybe we stumble onto an easier route into the port. They leave a gate open or unlocked. Stranger things have happened.”

“I’m not relying on luck, brother,” Spencer said. “Lady Luck’s never been friendly to me.”

Meredith might not be running ops from behind a CIA desk anymore, but she hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be a handler. Her brain sparked, running through a dozen different scenarios. The chances of their band making it past the machine-gun nests and barbed wire, sabotaging the FGL’s efforts to spread the Oni Agent Round Two, and coming out of it alive?

Not great.

“Think we can rile the Skulls up like we did in the Congo? Get them to do the attacking for us?” Jenna offered.

“If they’re controlling the Skulls somehow, I doubt it,” Glenn said. “Last time, we used a Titan against them. We don’t have one now.”

“Might be worth a try, though,” Spencer said.

“Might be,” Dom agreed, “but that’s still a little too noisy. If it comes down to a gunfight, the odds aren’t in our favor.”

They were silent for a moment. Dom strapped his rifle over his back, done cleaning it, and stood.

“We’re wasting time,” he said. “Deliberating isn’t going to get us inside. Best thing we can do is head through the medina and set up some observation points. If we don’t see an entrance, then we’ll make a game-time decision: attract the Skulls, or blow our way through.”

“Maybe both?” Andris asked.

“If we have to,” Dom said. He didn’t look happy about those options, but what else could they do?

Meredith racked her brain, searching for alternatives, as she gathered her belongings and readied to leave. Jalil seemed to be trying to help, but the intel he offered was skimpy. Back at the CIA, she never would’ve ordered a team into action based only off what he’d told them. In any other situation, she would have questioned him more thoroughly. Maybe Jalil had the answer and just didn’t know it, but Meredith didn’t have time to find out.

“Are you sure my fighters cannot come with you?” Jalil asked. “We could be of some assistance.”

Dom seemed to consider it for a second. Meredith was certain Jalil’s men were good soldiers. But a good soldier did not necessarily translate to a good infiltrator. Their priority for now was stealth.

“No, I don’t want to risk your people’s lives, too.” Dom seemed to be making an effort to save face on behalf of Jalil. “It may not end well for us, and you have a responsibility to this city and its people.” Dom gestured to one of the nearby rooms where some of the children and women were sleeping.

Meredith spied Hamid in the other room. His head was on a pillow next to a smaller boy she assumed was his brother, but Hamid wasn’t asleep. His eyes were wide open, glassy and haunted. She turned back toward Jalil.

“You said that Hamid was trying to get into the port?”

Jalil nodded.

“And he’s local? From Tangier?”

“His father owned a shop in the medina.”

Meredith beckoned to Hamid. He put a hand to his chest as if to ask, “Me?”

“Yes,” Meredith said.

He carefully got out of bed and crept over. She crouched to meet him at eye level. “I have a question for you. It’s very important. You told us you were headed to the port when the Skulls—the Jnun—were chasing you.”

“My brother and I were scared. We didn’t know where else to turn.”

“Why did you go to the port, though?”

“There were people there. We saw the helicopters. I thought there might be some kind of military group out there.”

“Why not hide somewhere else in the medina? The port is surrounded by walls and barbed wire and monsters.”

“Because I thought I could get inside.” Hamid made a face as if he thought she was crazy. As though these were the most obvious answers in the world. “There are many hiding spots. I know my way around there. I figured we could find one if the people didn’t help us.”

“The port doesn’t seem like a safe place to hang out, even before the monsters took over.”

Hamid looked away sheepishly. “That is what my father always said.”

“Look,” Meredith said. “We need to get into the port. And as you saw, we can’t just walk our way through the front door. We’ve got to sneak in. Do you know a way?”

“The sewer.”

“You got to be kidding,” Miguel said.

“I am not joking,” Hamid replied. “That’s how we used to get in, back when I was a boy and did not worry about getting into trouble.”

Jalil, unable to follow the English conversation except for the word “sewer,” said something to Hamid in Arabic, and the two engaged in a back-and-forth for several seconds until Hamid turned back to Meredith and the others.

“He told me his men had tried to use the sewer recently, but they are blocked,” Hamid said.

Meredith’s heart sank. So much for that Hail Mary.

But Hamid wasn’t finished. “They tried the new tunnels. The old ones are empty and no longer used. Most of them were sealed up, but my friends and I found some that weren’t filled in all the way. They lead from the warehouses all the way into the docks, where they dump into the sea.”

“Can we get through them?” Meredith asked.

Hamid seemed to consider this, sizing them up with his eyes. He pointed at Glenn. “He will have to take off his pack, but yes, I think you can all fit.”

“Then the sewers it is,” Dom said.

“How do we get there?” Meredith asked. “Can you show us on the map?”

“I can’t really show you on this.” He pointed to the stained, scribbled-upon map.

“You can’t read it, you mean?” Meredith tried.

“That is right.”

“Try describing how we get there. What about street names?”

Hamid laughed. “Street names? We do not travel like that. I know how to get there, but it is difficult to describe. It’s all here.” He tapped his head. “Do you understand what I mean?”

“I think I do,” Meredith said. She wished he could just paint them a picture of where they needed to go. Then they could be off and on their way. “Do you think you could show us the way?”

Hamid’s face went pale. No doubt he was imagining all the horrors he had faced before he and his brother had found Jalil’s people. “I...I...” he stammered as Glenn translated Meredith’s request to Jalil.

“We do not know the way,” Jalil said through Glenn. “Boys like Hamid, who have explored this city their whole lives, know it better than we do.”

Dom looked at Hamid reluctantly. Meredith could see the thoughts passing through his mind. He would hate to drag the kid out into the mess that was Tangier. Endangering children wasn’t his MO. But there was so much at stake.

“Hamid, we could really use your help. Will you take us?” Meredith asked finally.

Hamid looked back into the room then up at Meredith before he answered. “My brother will stay here, right?”

“Yes,” Meredith said. “He’ll be safe. We just need you to guide us.”

“If we don’t make it, I want a promise that he’ll be taken care of. Will you do that?”

“You’ll come back,” Meredith said. “We’ll be certain of that.”

“But if I don’t...” The young teen was as stubborn as he was realistic, and Meredith saw maturity in those wide eyes that shouldn’t be there. He should be kicking around a soccer ball, working on homework, or helping his parents at their shop, not helping a group of covert operatives infiltrate an enemy base.

“Yes,” Dom said, “we’ll make sure your brother is safe. No matter what.”

Glenn was translating the conversation to Jalil as they spoke. Jalil placed a hand on Hamid’s shoulder. “I will personally go with you to make sure you return safely. My people will watch over Adil until we come back. Is that a deal?”

Hamid shook Jalil’s hand. “It’s a deal.”

Jalil turned to Dom. “That is all right with you, isn’t it, Captain?”

“Sure,” Dom said. He and Meredith would both have preferred to limit the group to experienced Hunters, but he had little choice if they wanted Hamid’s help. “While it’s still dark out, we move.”

With that, they grabbed their weapons and slipped out of the riad, trusting their safety in the path ahead to a frightened young boy.

-25-

Dom had thought Tangier was a maze when they had only been navigating its outskirts, but that experience did not compare to the medina. Arches and doorways led to unexpected dead ends, while narrow alleys barely wide enough for one man blossomed into thoroughfares that then shrank and splintered like a weed’s roots into the surrounding buildings. There were so many different winding passages that Dom was certain the map they carried could never capture them all.

He understood why Tangier had once been a hotbed for espionage. If you were after James Bond and you knew the MI6 agent was somewhere in the medina, it would still be hell trying to find the cheeky bastard in the labyrinthine crisscross of cafes, hookah dens, shops, and riads. He was thankful, now more than ever, for the kid guiding them. Hamid might not have been as quiet or careful as the Hunters, but it seemed he had at least learned the rudimentary skills of stealth while surviving in a city filled with Skulls.

Jalil wasn’t doing too badly in the field, either. Dom had underestimated their covert capabilities, but even more so, he had underestimated just how much time they would save by having a pair of expert guides. This alone was worth every time he had to pause when Jalil crunched over a piece of glass or Hamid gasped at a rotting body just a bit too loudly.

They flitted through rug shops and stores strewn with teapots and other knickknacks that had once been peddled to tourists. Street carts and glass displays in front of tiny bakeries lay empty, scavenged by survivors and animals. Skeletons lay in piles, ghastly reminders of the people who had once called this place home. But behind these tableaus of death, Dom could imagine the thriving city this had once been, steeped in rich culture and history.

He had once toyed with the idea of a Moroccan vacation with his ex-wife, Bethany. Back when Kara and Sadie were young, they had decided they needed another honeymoon—to leave the kids with the grandparents and try to reignite the embers of their fading relationship. Thinking of her sent a spike of remorse through his chest. He’d been absent for much of their marriage, and Bethany had never really understood why Dom felt driven to do the work he did. He eyed Meredith as the group gathered in an abandoned third-floor restaurant to take a short break and survey the rest of the medina ahead of them from the restaurant’s open patio.

“When we get back from this, I owe you a hell of a date,” Dom said. “I’m thinking a candlelit dinner overlooking the ocean.”

“I take it you’re not talking about Tangier.”

“Too many Skulls. And it’s smellier than the travel books said. But if that’s what you’re into, fine.”

“Dom Holland, are you trying to sweet-talk me? Is that how you get all the ladies?”

“I’ve obviously been very successful.”

Through the dust and sweat covering her face, Meredith gave him that impish grin of hers. He’d never noticed it properly back when they had been merely friends and coworkers. But now, it made his world light up.

“We’re going to get through this,” Dom said, allowing himself a moment to picture a life with Meredith and his daughters. “All of us. We’ll save the world and sail off into the sunset.”

“I can’t wait,” Meredith said. “You’ve also promised me a vacation with the girls on a Skull-free beach.”

Dom’s good mood evaporated. He wiped a hand across the back of his mouth.

Meredith’s grin faded, too. “What?”

“I left my girls at Lajes because I thought it’d be safer.” He started to massage his calf. Resting here while Andris, Jalil, and Hamid argued about the best way through the medina had made the injury cramp up. “I thought for once they’d be out of harm’s way. Somewhere where the Skulls couldn’t touch them. Thank God Thomas was close enough to send the Huntress back to help.”

“It’s a shit situation, but you know Lauren will take care of the girls.”

Dom wanted to believe her. “I know,” he said unconvincingly.

“You going to be all right?” Meredith asked.

“I have to be,” Dom said.

Andris returned to the room with Jalil and Hamid. Meredith stood and then started to offer a hand to Dom. She took it back almost immediately when she saw the expression on his face. He didn’t want to need help.

With a grunt, he made it to his feet. “What’s the word?”

“We have a route to the port,” Andris said. “Minimal contacts visible from our position. If we are lucky, we may be there in a matter of minutes.”

“Then no more wasting time,” Dom said. “Move out.”

The calls of Skulls filtered over the city like the roll of distant thunder. The promise of violence kept Dom on edge as they prowled through the streets. A few Skulls lunged from the shadows, but bullets and blades kept them at bay. The pain in his calf seemed to ignite every time he heard crunching gravel or the scratch of claws against stone, as if his leg were eager to betray him at the last second.

Miguel led the group through the winding passages and alleys. Dom and Meredith guarded Hamid, while Jalil watched their backs. Hamid whispered instructions, providing them more accurate directions than anything Dom could’ve hoped to achieve with a satellite GPS. When they reached a mound of bricks under a broken stone arch, Miguel paused.

“How far, kid?” Miguel asked.

“The entrance is across the street,” Hamid said. “Do you see the shop with the scarves?”

“I do,” Miguel said. “We’ve got about thirty contacts over there, too.”

“Contacts?” Hamid asked, his voice tinged with fear. “Does that mean Jnun?”

Dom crouched by Hamid. “Is there another way in?”

“The only way into the old sewers is through there,” Hamid said.

Dom took a breath. Thirty Skulls. The Hunters could take them out. It wouldn’t be so hard.

“Take firing positions,” Dom whispered to the Hunters. They moved like shadows. Each shouldered their suppressed rifles and took aim.

“On my count,” Dom said. “Three, two—”

Something smacked into the ground behind them. The characteristic gurgling sounded before Dom could turn around. The noise erupted into an aggressive roar. Dom knew what that meant. The Drooler was about to attack.

As he spun aside, the corroded body of the mutated Skull lurched toward them. One eye hung loose from its socket. Both arms were broken and covered in weeping sores. Its jaw loosened, and a pillar of acid surged from its mouth.

Straight at Hamid.

Dom needed no time to think. He had made a promise to Hamid, and he wasn’t about to break it. He threw himself between the Drooler and Hamid, and the spray splashed against his fatigues.

***

Andris fired on the Drooler. Its head exploded in a cloud of bone and flesh.

“Bastard,” he spat.

The Drooler’s body collapsed. Acid leaked from its devastated skull. He had been quick on the trigger, reacting with the trained impulses ingrained by years of military and mercenary service.

And yet he had been too slow.

Another you could not save, Andris thought, staring at Dom in horror. His captain was covered in dripping brown acid.

“Son of a...” Dom muttered. He stood, acid sluicing harmlessly off him.

A rush of relief washed through Andris. The polymer coating the med team had developed to protect their clothing had saved the day again. A few specks of acid etched red burn marks on Dom’s face, but it was nothing life threatening. Andris looked around, checking the others for injuries.

Hamid was cowered in a ball near the arch, pressing himself against the brick pile. “Jnun!”

A Skull stared back at the Hunters. Shreds of once-white clothes hung off the bone-plate fins jutting from its shoulders. Its red eyes gleamed under scaled brows, and its mouth wrenched open. Andris sent a bullet exploding through its jaw. The monster fell backward in a heap of limbs and bone chips.

Then a chorus of howls rose among the crowd of monsters. Like a tidal wave of malevolent voices, the cries swelled. Andris knocked out Skull after Skull in quick succession, working with the others to clear the monsters from the sewer’s entrance. Several of the Skulls, braver or stupider than the rest, charged against the hail of bullets. Their bodies jerked and thrashed with each impact, lead crashing through bone. They were no match for the Hunters’ long-range assault.

But the noise would attract other Skulls. Already, Andris could hear their voices joining the din.

“Jalil, you should take Hamid back now,” Dom said.

Jalil shook his head. “We did not come this far to let you get lost underground.”

Andris could see hesitation in his eyes. But there was no time for second-guessing.

At last, Dom said, “Move out. Miguel, on point.”

Miguel charged across the street. He smashed his boot into a crawling Skull with mangled limbs. Another one reached for Miguel, and Andris fired until it went still. The Hunters moved in formation, with Jalil and Hamid in their midst.

“Here, here!” Hamid yelled. He pointed to a pile of rubble.

“I thought it wasn’t closed up!” Spencer said.

“It wasn’t,” Hamid said. “At least, before the Jnun, it wasn’t, I swear.”

“You heard him,” Dom said. “Start digging.”

Glenn and Spencer heaved rocks aside, assisted by Jenna and Meredith. Dom bent down to grab a brick, the movement causing him to wince. Miguel and Jalil helped, and even Hamid was doing his best to lend a hand.

Andris provided cover fire. He sighted up his MK11. A Skull had just turned a corner down the street. It ran at them with its claws outstretched. The monster was more than one hundred meters away, but Andris wouldn’t let it get a meter closer. He held his breath and fired. The Skull’s head disappeared, and its body, carried by momentum, slid across the dirt, kicking up a trail of dust. A few other Skulls rushed in behind the first. Shot after shot, Andris fired as soon as his aiming reticule fell over the bastards.

The others worked behind him, tossing stones and moving bricks. Andris prayed the young boy was right about the tunnels.

The rifle kicked against Andris’s shoulder. Cold adrenaline flowed through him, but he had learned long ago how to control it. How to tame the wild beast lighting up his blood vessels and nerves. Each bullet he fired found its mark in the flesh of a Skull, tearing through soft tissue and hard bone.

But even with his efforts to suppress the swarm, there was no end to the monsters trampling each other through the street. Others began flooding out of the alleys. Even more leapt across the roofs of nearby buildings, silhouetted by moonlight.

“Captain,” Andris said. “I’m going to need some help or a bigger gun.”

Dom paused, looking over his shoulder, and cursed. His eyes surveyed his crew as he wondered who he could afford to switch from digging duty to shooting. “Cover’s blown already. Andris, let’s do this your way.”

“I thought you would never ask.”

Spencer and Glenn took up shooting positions a safe distance away. Andris placed a few small C4 charges that should be enough to clear the debris, or at least turn it to gravel, without collapsing the sewer structure beneath.

Meredith hoisted Hamid to his feet and tried shielding his body with hers as she jogged away. The others ducked behind a wall, bracing themselves. Andris pressed the detonator as he slid to safety. Heat rolled over him, and pulverized rock sprayed the street. A cloud of gray dust billowed from the explosion site, and even more Skulls called out in answer.

Andris wasted no time. He charged across the street and shoveled through the rest of the debris. The loose stones fell away, revealing the darkness of a tunnel.

“We’re in!” Andris bellowed.

“Go, go, go!” Dom commanded the others, waving his arm forward. “Miguel, Glenn, cover us!”

The air was split by gunfire. Andris helped Jalil and Hamid first, followed by Spencer, Jenna, and Meredith. He turned and fired into the Skulls. Miguel and Glenn were already retreating.

“Quickly!” Andris said. A Skull leapt off a roof, soaring with claws outstretched. Andris fired, and its body slammed onto the road by Miguel’s feet. “Quickly, damn it!”

Dom lunged toward the tunnel. The captain was favoring his right leg, limping heavily. The wound must be hurting him. A Skull sliced the air just behind Dom, centimeters from catching his spine. Miguel lashed out with the knife in his prosthetic. The blade sliced through the Skull’s throat, and the thing collapsed, choking on its own blood.

The captain was a proud man, but Andris didn’t care about that right now. Better to have a bruised ego than a bite from a Skull. He grabbed Dom under the arm and half carried him down into the tunnel. Miguel and Glenn followed.

Then came the Skulls.

-26-

Kara stood at the open hatch of the cargo bay, staring out over Lajes. Lauren had insisted she and Sadie return to the ship. One second, it was “stay at the base because it’ll be safer.” The next, it turned out Lajes was even less safe than the Huntress.

Truth be told, she was happy to be back on the ship. Not only was it the closest thing to home now, but she doubted she’d run into a Skull here.

She wondered how her father was doing. She tried not to think about the dangers he was facing, especially when Sadie tugged on her sleeve and asked for the thousandth time when Dad was going to be home.

She didn’t know. Kara never had any answers because no one ever told her anything.

Every time she saw Thomas in the corridors, he seemed to avoid her, rushing back and forth between the electronics workshop and the bridge on some self-designated mission. At one point, she tried pressing her ear against the cold steel of the workshop’s hatch, but it had been impossible to make out anything from inside.

She shuddered. He’s done this a thousand times, she thought, and he’ll do it a thousand more. You have to trust him.

Her father had spent most of his life on secret spy missions. She’d grown up thinking her father was some boring paper-pushing ambassador working overseas. She’d at least had the overseas part right. Up until the outbreak, she had lived worry free, without any idea that her father was crawling through biological weapons labs and terrorist bomb-making facilities while she slept comfortably in her bed back in Maryland.

Ignorance was nice, she thought. But now that her eyes had been opened, they couldn’t be shut. She had been worried, even physically sick at times, knowing what her father was up against in the field. Every time he left, she had to work hard to convince herself he would return. She focused all her energy on believing he would walk through the door, envelop her and Sadie and Maggie in his big arms, and squeeze them tight.

But this time was different. This time she had seen the pain in each step he took. The way his face sagged with exhaustion when he thought no one else was looking.

He’d been hurt before. So had all the Hunters. Her fingers found her cheek, and she traced the gouges in her skin. She’d been hurt, too. It was nearly impossible to find anyone who had escaped from Skull-infested territory without scars. But still...

She wanted to trust Meredith’s promise that she wouldn’t let anything happen to him. She liked Meredith. Really, she did. But sometimes people made promises they couldn’t keep.

Her eyes traced the waves crashing against the Huntress’s hull. Spray hung in the air, illuminated like a spray of blood by the dull red glow of the cargo bay lights.

She wished Navid were here. She could talk to him about this stuff, and he wouldn’t judge her or say she was overreacting. He wouldn’t think she was weak for worrying about her father. Instead, Navid was across the Atlantic with the old man who had started this nightmare. Another person to worry about. Another person who might not come home.

“Quit bitching,” Kara said out loud. She shouldn’t be complaining. She was alive. Her sister was alive. Her father was a hero. She should be proud of that.

But she was only human.

She stared out at the port, following the curve of the city where it led up to Lajes Field.

In just a few minutes, she would need to return to the lab. At least she had been able to help Lauren, Peter, and Sean with the synthesis of the Phoenix Compound. Navid had taught her. It was simple, really. The glass tubes, beakers, and heating elements had been intimidating at first, but she had found synthesizing a batch of chemicals wasn’t all that different from baking. You just needed to follow the instructions and use the right ingredients.

And as a bonus, it gave her something to keep her mind off the world outside the lab. She started to turn away from the island, ready to lose herself in the work again. But then something caught her eye.

A dull light glowed from Lajes. The base had limited power thanks to a generator. But this glow was different from the sickly yellow of lithium lights. Tinged with red, it flickered like a candle.

Kara’s stomach flipped. Exactly like a candle.

“Fire!” she yelled, her words echoing in the empty cargo hold. “Fire!”

***

Lauren held onto the handrail of the Humvee with a white-knuckled grip as it bounced along the road toward Lajes Field. Peter stared straight ahead, his jaw set. Between them lay the last few boxes of medical supplies they could spare. They had left behind only the barest minimum of antibiotics, painkillers, and other crucial supplies. Just enough to help the Hunters if they should return with minor injuries.

They had gotten in contact with Lajes as soon as Kara had alerted them about the fire. The Humvee, with a driver and a soldier to provide them an escort, had been sent to pick them up before they even got off the comms with Ronaldo. A voice barked over the Humvee’s radio. Lauren looked to the driver for a translation.

“The isolation ward is on fire,” the man said. “But it is spreading. I do not know the cause yet. They said one Skull is loose, but we will be cautious in case there are more.”

Lauren stared out the windshield. Pillars of flame rose from the broken windows of buildings. Smoke plumed in oily clouds. The soldier in the passenger seat of the Humvee shifted nervously. His hands tightened around his rifle.

“One guy,” Peter muttered. “That’s all they sent for us.”

“It’s only one Skull out there, too,” Lauren said. “We’ve dealt with worse.”

The jagged staccato of automatic gunfire sounded in the distance. A shrill cry rose above the crackle of the flames. Her heart crept into her throat, and she found it hard to swallow. Dark shapes flitted across the light of the fire. Soldiers rushing into the isolation ward? Or were those Skulls?

Another frantic voice exploded over the radio in between bouts of static. The driver translated the statement. “He says they need the doctors immediately.” Then the driver offered his own interpretation. “I believe there are many injured.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Peter said. “You sure there’s only one Skull loose?”

“That is what they told me,” the soldier replied.

Peter turned away from the flames. The bags under his eyes had never seemed bigger. His eyes were dull and bloodshot. If Lauren hadn’t known better, she would’ve assumed he’d been infected. But the Phoenix Compound’s effects were still swimming through his blood. It was nothing more than exhaustion from being worked to the brink of collapse.

Another yell resounded over the field, and Lauren’s eyes grew wide. Between the flames and the screams, she felt as if they were being driven into hell.

“You’re having second thoughts,” Peter whispered, leaning toward her.

Lauren almost lied. “I’m not a battlefield medic,” she admitted.

Patients’ lives were at stake. And worse, as the patients came out of their medically induced comas, they’d wake up enraged, teetering on the edge of becoming full-blown Skulls.

“We have to hold the base,” Lauren said. “If we lose Lajes, we lose this foothold to Europe and the rest of the world. If there’s something we can do to help, we have to do it.”

The corners of Peter’s lips twitched as if he was about to smile. He didn’t, but it was enough. “That’s the Lauren I know.”

“This should be straightforward.”

“We always say that.”

“And we’re always wrong, I know. Doesn’t hurt to be optimistic. I want you to triage any casualties.”

“I know what to do,” Peter said, cracking his knuckles.

While they bounced along in the Humvee, Sean was searching for the Oni Agent vector on the island. How it got here, where and what it was—those were all still mysteries. The only thing they knew for sure was that something was turning people into Skulls faster than they could quarantine them. And worse yet, they would run out of sedatives to keep those people under control before tomorrow’s end.

More gunfire exploded, sounding closer this time.

“Just one Skull, huh?” Lauren asked the soldier.

“They are fast,” he replied. “Very hard to hit sometimes.”

Without warning, the Humvee swerved. Lauren was thrown against the back of the vehicle. She reached for a handhold as the Humvee jolted and rolled onto its side. The sounds of fracturing glass filtered through the scrape of metal against pavement. Something shrieked outside. Distinctly inhuman.

Smoke poured from under the hood of the Humvee, and Lauren blinked through its biting sting.

“Peter, you okay?” Lauren asked.

He didn’t answer right away, and his eyes were unfocused. Alarms went off in Lauren’s head. “Peter, can you hear me?”

His eyes found hers. “Yeah, yeah. I’m with it. Caught me by surprise, but I’m with it.”

Lauren crawled toward the front of the Humvee. The driver was lying against the window, a bloody spiderweb of cracked glass framing his battered face. He was already gone. The soldier in the passenger seat dangled from his belt. Blood trickled down his forehead. He struggled to maneuver himself to unclick the belt and let himself go.

“Hold on,” Lauren said. She reached to help him.

Before she could grab his seatbelt, glass exploded from the passenger-side window. A scaly hand wrapped around the soldier’s neck. He yelled as the claws dug into his flesh, rivulets of fresh blood tracing from the wounds. Another hand shot in, yanking the soldier against the belt. A Skull’s face appeared in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, teeth bared as it tried to pull its fresh prey out.

Peter froze, pressed against the floor of the sideways Humvee. Lauren grabbed the soldier’s arm and pulled in a desperate tug-of-war.

“Peter!” Lauren cried. “Help me!”

Peter shook himself from his shock and crawled toward her. He picked up the rifle that the soldier had dropped and aimed it at the Skull. All the while, the soldier flailed, blocking Peter’s shot. Blood trickled over Lauren’s arm from the man’s wound, and she nearly lost her grip. Then the gun went off, deafening in the enclosed space.

The Skull retreated.

“Is it dead?” Peter asked.

Lauren tried to look out the windshield. Shapes moved in the distance near the fire, but she couldn’t see the Skull’s body.

“Maybe it fell over there,” Lauren said, pointing toward the wide blind spot from the sideways Humvee. She pushed herself up to the passenger seat and released the soldier, helping him down. He was mumbling prayers to himself. Tears intermingled with blood.

“Careful,” Peter said. He held the rifle at arm’s length as if it were a poisonous snake.

“Cover me, okay?”

Peter shouldered the rifle again. He looked completely uncomfortable with it. Neither of them had really trained with weapons, other than the very basic gun safety course that Dom insisted all of his crew members take.

Before Lauren could poke her head through the open window, the demonic face of the Skull appeared above her again. She ducked, and the claws swept the air where her head had been. Instead, it dragged the injured soldier away. He disappeared out of the window, crying in agony, and the sounds of wet slurping and tearing sounded just outside the Humvee.

“Son of a bitch!” Lauren cried. “Peter, give me the gun!”

Peter was quick to give up the weapon, and Lauren propped herself up on the passenger seat. The Skull was crouched over the soldier’s body. The man had gone quiet. A dark, shimmering pool of blood stained the street around him, and the creature dipped its claws into the man’s belly, pulling out ropey entrails.

“Bastard,” Lauren said. She aimed the rifle as best as she could and fired on the distracted Skull.

She wasn’t a good shot. Not at all. But she was close enough that it didn’t make a difference. Bones chips and flesh flew from the Skull as she unloaded, rapidly squeezing the trigger. The rifle bucked against her shoulder. She kept firing until the air stank of cordite and the bolt locked back.

Peter looked up at her from inside the Humvee. Lauren would have laughed at the stunned expression on his face, except that if she opened her mouth, she would probably throw up.

Together, they climbed out of the wrecked Humvee. There were no nearby vehicles. No more armed soldiers to escort them. And the fire was still raging at the base. They needed to get there and help the patients before it was too late.

“We’re in deep shit now,” Peter said.

A Skull bellowed in the distance. So much for there only being one monster loose on the island.

“Deep shit indeed,” Lauren echoed.

-27-

“Keep going!” Dom roared. Hamid and Jalil took off down the tunnel with the Hunters in tow. “Andris, Glenn, on rear guard. Blow the entrance when we’re clear!”

“You got it, Captain!” Andris replied. He and Glenn shouldered their rifles and sent a volley of fire into the Skulls.

Hamid led them onward. Dom had expected the teen to crumble under the threat of the oncoming horde. But although his face was pale, Hamid never faltered. His shuttered, determined expression reminded Dom of Kara. The horrors she’d experienced had robbed her face of softness, and her rare smiles were mere shadows of the happy, energetic young woman she used to be.

Don’t think about your girls, he told himself. They’re safe. Thomas and Lauren will protect them.

“We are ready, Captain!” Andris yelled.

“Do it!” Dom shouted back.

Andris depressed the detonator. The earth rumbled. Plumes of gray dust rolled toward them, enveloping Skulls and humans. The din of crashing rock echoed down the sewer. Heat rolled over them, followed by a rushing wind. Andris had calculated the explosives well, but Dom expected nothing else. Just enough to destroy the entrance but not enough to bring down the ceiling on them.

Though the rocks settled, the scrape of taloned feet on the dried sewer floor did not. Dom turned around with Glenna and Andris beside him. They had already flipped down their NVGs. Bright-green shapes appeared in the dust.

Dom squeezed the trigger and brought down Skull after Skull. The monsters shrieked and flailed as they fell in waves.

“That the last of ’em?” Glenn asked.

One of the Skulls dragged itself out of the corpse pile. Blood dripped from a wound in its chest and a cracked plate along its neck. Andris pressed the barrel of his gun to its forehead and fired.

“Good work,” Dom said, letting his rifle fall to his side on its strap. He patted Andris’s back. “I’m damn glad we’ve got you on our team.”

Andris gave him an uncertain look. Dom saw something behind the man’s eyes. Something he couldn’t quite place, as if Andris was doubting himself. It was a disconcerting look for the cocky Latvian.

“I mean it,” Dom said. “You saved our assess back there.”

“I have done no such thing yet, Captain,” Andris said. “This mission is not over.”

Dom left it at that. He could see something was bothering the man, but there was little time to play psychologist. He’d sit down with Andris when they got back to the ship. For now, all he could do was hope that the former Legionnaire wasn’t about to lose his nerve.

We’ve been lucky, Dom thought. No casualties since coming to shore in Morocco. Someone really was looking out for them. He liked to think that Renee and the other fallen Hunters were up there somewhere, watching their backs. He looked up at the ceiling of the sewer as if he could see straight up to Heaven. Thanks, whoever you are.

The group hurried through the intersections and forks of the tunnels, the smell of death and decay their constant companion. Hamid led them without hesitation, and Dom found another thing to be thankful for. The kid truly was a godsend down here. He wondered how long he and the others would’ve fumbled around, looking for the right passages.

In a matter of minutes, Hamid had brought them toward a pinprick of light. He paused at the lip of the tunnel, and Dom joined him.

“Thanks,” Dom said. “You’ve done well.”

“We must get rid of the Jnun.”

“We’ll do everything we can.”

Hamid nodded but seemed uncertain. “The way we came is blocked now.”

“It is.”

Hamid blinked rapidly as if trying not to cry. “That was the only way I know to get back. Everything else here just leads to the port. I will not be able to return to my brother.”

“That might be the only way out of the sewers, but that’s not the only way back,” Dom said. He kneeled to look in Hamid’s eyes. “Why don’t you and Jalil wait right here? We’ll be back in no time to get you home.”

“But you’ll die,” Hamid protested.

“We don’t intend to. We’re going to go in, get the bad guys, and come back.”

“But the other Americans—”

“We’re not the other Americans,” Dom said. “I will get you back to your brother.”

Hamid nodded once and then retreated into the shadows, speaking to Jalil. The older man seemed to agree without argument. He leaned against the wall, resting his rifle against his shoulder as the Hunters crept to the edge of the cavernous pipe. It jutted out over the water. Across the way, huge freighters were docked, their upper decks loaded with metal shipping crates. Warehouses stood sentinel next to the docks, most bathed in darkness, and all manner of buildings were strewn between them. Near the ships, four towed anti-aircraft guns had been set up, each of their twin barrels pointed westward.

Dom searched the ships and the docks with his binos but saw very little movement. Lights shone from one of the larger warehouses, and a single crane moved back and forth, loading new shipping containers onto one of the freighters. The constant din of metal scraping against metal sounded over the water.

“What’s making that racket, Chief?” Miguel said.

“Not sure,” Dom said gruffly. “Looks like they’re loading cargo, though.”

“My God,” Meredith said. “You think all those crates are filled with biological weapons?”

“Why would they load them in those containers?” Jenna asked. “Why not just launch them with missiles or something?”

“Maybe this is just the processing plant,” Glenn offered. “They create the batches here, and they’ll load them into missiles somewhere else.”

“Damn,” Spencer said.

“This may just be one small link in the FGL chain,” Meredith said thoughtfully.

“More than likely,” Dom said. He pointed to the warehouse with the lights on. “Look, I’m not sure how much time we have before those ships leave. If they’re as important as we suspect, I want them stopped tonight.”

“And how exactly are the seven of us going to disable three huge freighters like that?” Jenna asked.

“I know how,” Andris said, smiling and patting his pack.

“Even all the explosives in your pack aren’t going to sink a vessel that size,” Glenn said.

“I’m not going to scuttle them,” Andris said. “Just take out the props.”

“Good thinking,” Dom said. He surveyed the docks again. “It doesn’t look like they’re equipped to dry-dock ships that size here. We take out those props, and then the best they can do is unload the ships and replace them. That gives us an extra couple days to figure something else out.”

“It’s not exactly a showstopper,” Meredith said, “but I can get behind that. If we’re lucky, maybe Shepherd and company are already making a connection with Kinsey.”

“And then they’ll send in the cavalry,” Jenna said, smiling. “If we take out the AA guns, they can scorch this place.”

“That’s the plan,” Dom said. “Andris, Meredith, I want you on Bravo. The port looks clear for the most part. You two know how to be quiet. Get those charges on the props, and get back to the tunnels. The rest of you are on me. We’re going to see if we can find out what’s going on in there.” He nodded toward the warehouse, with its lights still shining like beacons in the night.

“Hoo-ah!” Glenn said, rubbing his meaty palms together. “I would love nothing better than to see this place leveled.”

Dom chinned his comm link. “Huntress, this is Alpha. You read?”

“Aye, Captain,” Chao called back. “Lauren and Peter are dealing with the situation at Lajes, but you’ve got our full attention.”

“Good,” Dom said. Now was not the time to ask about his girls, but it took everything in his power not to demand that Chao get Kara and Sadie on the line. “I think you know the drill by now. We’re going to be installing mobile uplinks wherever possible, and we’ll need you to work as fast as you can to crack their systems.”

“I’ve been waiting for something fun to do,” Samantha’s voice chimed in. “You just tell me when.”

“I want to be in and out before sunrise,” Dom said. He turned to the Hunters. “That gives us just under five hours. The one thing I don’t want getting out of this port are those goddamned ships. Understood?”

“Aye, Captain,” the group responded in concert.

“Miguel,” Dom said, “you take point.”

“You got it, Chief.” Miguel squeezed past Dom and crawled out of the pipe. After a few minutes, he called back, “All clear.”

One by one, the Hunters climbed up to join Miguel. Dom went last, looking back at Hamid and Jalil. “We’ll be back.”

Dom prayed he really could keep that promise.

But when the alarms blared from one of the warehouses and spotlights shone over the shipyard, he wasn’t so sure he could.

-28-

Spotlights lanced between the buildings, forcing the Hunters to take cover. Meredith squeezed behind a low-lying stone wall with Andris. They pressed against it as the light washed over the other side. She trained her rifle on the men rushing out of the warehouse several hundred meters to their east. Her finger twitched near the trigger guard. More men spilled from the warehouses, running southward, away from the buildings and toward the wall built around the port.

“Have they spotted us already?” Andris whispered.

Meredith listened for the telltale sign of boot steps to come crashing in their direction. She heard plenty of people running around, but no one was moving toward them.

“The wall,” Dom said over the comm link. “They’re probably dealing with the Skulls that got riled up after we blasted the sewers.”

“Probably right, Chief,” Miguel said. “Those Skulls were wilder than Samantha in a mosh pit.”

“You know I’m still listening, right?” Samantha asked over the comm link.

“That’s why I said it.”

“We don’t know how long these people are going to be on alert,” Dom said. “Our window is closing. Bravo, you’ve got the farthest to go. Get moving.”

Meredith took a final glance at Dom. He met her gaze and gave her the slightest of nods. It was a subtle gesture, hardly anything of note. But to Meredith, it said everything. That single gesture spoke of their connection, of his worry for her, of his need to see her come out of this unhurt and safe. She gave him a slight nod back and then took off with Andris as the spotlights traced over a nearby building.

Her thoughts stayed on Dom even as she ran away from him. She’d seen the change in his gait, the wince and grimace every time he moved. His injury was holding him back, but still he wouldn’t sit this one out. He’d rather die than abandon his team. She feared it might just come to that.

“Meredith,” Andris whispered. “Look. There.”

Her attention snapped back to the present moment. Two men were headed in their direction. Meredith dove behind a concrete planter filled with the skeletal branches of a long-dead plant. Andris ducked behind another. Meredith waited for the approaching footsteps to stop, for their voices to cry out in alarm.

Keep walking, Meredith thought. We aren’t the spies you’re looking for.

Then came the dreaded pause. Hushed words exchanged between the guards. Cautious steps growing closer, closer. Meredith’s fingers tensed around her rifle.

The first soldier came into her line of sight. He was prowling slowly, his rifle on his shoulder. He paused at the planter Andris had disappeared behind, and Meredith held her breath. The two men circled the planter, but neither seemed to notice anything.

The duo fanned out, still alert. Their rifle barrels still swept the grounds as they searched for whatever it was that had attracted their attention in the first place.

Where the hell was Andris? She scanned the area, hoping to find him before the guards did. There! He was perched behind a short wall of sandbags set around a machine gun. Andris’s legs were tensed beneath him. He looked as if he was about ready to leap over the other side of the sandbags when the two men came around. If he timed it right, he could dodge out of their line of sight, avoiding them completely.

But the two men split up. One stayed on the far side of the sandbags, but the other approached Andris. It would be mere seconds before the man found him and raised the alarm that intruders had breached the port’s defenses.

Meredith’s pulse raced. She had to act. If she pounced at one of the soldiers, the other would have more than enough time to either take her out or call for reinforcements.

She needed a distraction. And in that moment, there was only one surefire, reliable way to do it. It wasn’t sophisticated. Hell, it was more schoolyard tactics than spy craft. She palmed a small rock and then chucked it at a nearby building. It pinged against the glass, and both soldiers immediately turned.

Made you look.

Andris exploded from his position, lunging over the sandbags. He wrapped his arms around one of the guards and pulled him down into the shadows.

Meredith sprang at the soldier nearest her. The man barely had time to yelp in surprise before she yanked his weapon away and kicked the back of his knees. He fell badly, too startled to brace himself. His head cracked against the pavement, and he went still. She pressed two fingers to his neck. No pulse.

Andris dragged the body of the guard he’d taken out to Meredith’s position. “What do we do with them?”

Meredith searched their pockets, pulling out keys, key cards, and radios. She wanted to ignore what they’d just done. Killing Skulls had been hard enough. But these guards...they’d been human. And thirty seconds ago, they’d been alive.

She tried to push the thought aside. They had been helping an organization responsible for the deaths of millions. All logic told her she had done the right thing. It didn’t make her feel any better.

“Toss ’em,” Meredith said, dragging the body to the edge of the concrete path beside the water. She nudged it over the side, and the corpse splashed into the water. The weight of his gear wrapped around him was enough to tug him beneath the surface. A few bubbles popped as the body sank into the murk. Andris dumped the other soldier.

Ten minutes in, and we’re already starting the body count, Meredith thought.

Andris turned from the water. He began gathering up the keys and key cards and then plugged one of the earpieces to the radio into his own ear. “At least we will now have access to the facilities and we can hear what they are saying.”

“That’s looking on the bright side,” Meredith said.

“Thank you,” Andris said unexpectedly.

Meredith looked up at him. “For what?”

“If you had waited any longer, the guards would have found me. You did the right thing.”

“Maybe,” she said, but she felt the burden of guilt lift a little at his words. Meredith gestured at the earpiece. “You hear anything on that?”

Andris nodded. “Plenty of Russian.”

“No surprise there. Can you follow what they’re saying?”

He raised a sardonic brow. “Yes, they mentioned they are now loading more supplies on the freighters. They are also killing the last of the Skulls at the gates.” He paused, his head tilted. “And it would seem that the Skulls they have not killed have settled down. Somehow they gained control over them.” He looked confused. “They said they talked to the Skulls. This does not make any sense.”

“I’ve stopped trying to make sense of things,” Meredith said. “We need to move. Straight to the freighter?”

Andris gave her a sheepish look. “I would not advise it.”

Meredith raised a brow. “What? It’s a clear shot.”

“It is,” Andris agreed, “but I hoped you would help me run an errand first.”

“What the hell, Andris? Did you forget to pick up your dry-cleaning or something?”

“I may have overpromised what I can do,” Andris said. “After our adventure in the sewer, I do not have enough to disable all three ships.”

“And when were you going to tell me?”

“I have just done so.”

“Goddammit. I don’t know how you did things in the French Foreign Legion, but I thought we were on the same page.”

“We are,” Andris said, his Latvian accent growing stronger as she glared at him. “It is all about the sneaking and stealthiness now. We are very much good at it.”

“Stealth won’t help us take down three freighters without any C4.”

“No,” Andris said, “but I am not without a plan.” He gestured toward one of the warehouses.

Meredith sighed. She wanted to say no, to call Dom and let him make the decision, but what were they going to do? Sit around and deliberate over another plan for a couple of hours? By the time they thought of something else, the ships with their dangerous cargo would be long gone. Explosives were still the fastest way to get the job done. “Fine. What did you have in mind?”

“Something that makes boom,” Andris said with a shrug.

“And how do you know which of these buildings is the one with things that go boom?”

Andris pointed. “That one over there.”

Meredith looked through her sights, following his finger. Sure enough, there was an open warehouse with a smattering of military vehicles out front and several men walking in and out with crates and bundles of weapons.

They stood to leave. Andris froze, his head tilted. The look on his face made Meredith think he’d just been shot.

“Oh shit,” Andris said.

“What?” A pit formed in Meredith’s stomach. “What is it, Andris?”

“They just asked those men we killed to sound off.” He bit his lip. “And they did not, of course, sound off. They are about to—”

Klaxons and floodlights exploded over the facility. To Meredith’s horror, several squads of soldiers formed up around the weapons shop they had hoped to retrieve their explosives from.

Things had just gone from difficult to impossible.

-29-

The moment Shepherd had been dreading came far too soon.

Earlier, they’d stumbled upon a gravel road through the woods, sparking hope in Shepherd that they were close to finding civilization—or at least whatever passed for it here. At the end of the road stood a cabin, promising shelter and maybe even supplies. But a cursory search revealed nothing but a couple of bodies and a 12-gauge beside a dozen boxes of shells.

While Shepherd rummaged through the cupboards just in case he’d missed something, one of Costas’s men yelled in bloodcurdling agony. Another Portuguese soldier had bitten into the man’s neck. Hot blood flowed from the wound as Shepherd leapt into action. He tore the attacker off then unholstered his pistol, sending three shots into the man-turned-Skull. The infected man’s body slumped against the wall.

“You...you killed him!” someone yelled.

Divya was already tending to the man who had been bitten. She tried desperately to staunch the bleeding, holding a bloodied cloth against the neck wound. She looked up and met Shepherd’s eyes, giving the tiniest shake of her head.

The bitten man gave a final spasm in Divya’s arms. Navid looked on with a thousand-yard stare. To the young scientist’s credit, he never let go of the stretcher with Terrence on it, and neither did the soldier assigned to help him. Matsumoto gazed at nothing, muttering to himself. A sudden urge to choke the living shit out of the old man took hold of Shepherd. His fingers flexed and curled instinctively, and he forced himself to turn away from the old bastard.

“You killed Salvador,” a woman said. “We could have saved him.”

“I had to,” Shepherd said. “He was a—”

He was cut off by more protesting voices. Curses and accusations were hurled at him. Those who hadn’t been given the Phoenix Compound blamed those who had. One man grabbed another’s collar and punched him in the jaw. Connor whimpered as his parents stood protectively in front of him. Another man with bandages covering where he’d been gouged by a Skull pulled at Divya’s pack, begging her to give him the medicine.

If they kept carrying on like this, it wouldn’t matter who had gotten the treatment. Every single one of these soldiers would be equal in death, disemboweled by the Skulls descending on them from every direction.

“Stop!” Shepherd yelled.

They ignored him.

“Stop!” Shepherd yelled again.

Stupid move, but hell, if the Skulls haven’t already heard us...

He fired his pistol into the air. Everyone fell silent, their eyes searching. They were probably looking to see who else he had shot.

“Look,” Shepherd said, doing his best to sound reasonable. “The only way we stop more people from turning is by finding help from the US military. You’re all trained airmen and -women, for God’s sake, so act like it. We are not animals. We have a mission.” He nodded toward Matsumoto. “We need to deliver this guy to General Kinsey. We need to get Divya and Navid there, too, along with the lab samples to start production of the Phoenix Compound. If we fail in that, every person’s life who has already been lost here, everyone who will lose their lives in the future, will have done so in vain.”

Costas’s people looked around at each other, sheathing weapons. Those who could stand did so. The injured leaned against trees or on the shoulders of their comrades. They were soaked in perspiration, their hair matted to their heads and beads of sweat rolling down their faces. Their eyes were bloodshot, and their nails were growing long and jagged at an alarming rate.

Some of them seemed to have already accepted their death. They stared glumly at their feet or into the middle distance. Others looked at him with eyes narrowed and fists curled. Maybe they were holding back the rage growing in their minds, building like a forest fire, spurred on by the Oni Agent. Maybe they were just determined, still believing they had a chance to live, to find salvation in the hands of some now-mythological medical professional who would rescue them from this death march.

No one here had been prepared to kill their brother- or sister-in-arms. He had seen expressions like these once before, when Fort Detrick had first fallen. Back before they knew it was the Oni Agent turning their fellow man into monster.

At least now he knew what their enemy really was. A nanoscopic biological agent.

“This is hell,” Shepherd said. “I know it. You know it. I’m not going to pretend we’re all going to live in some happily-ever-after wonderland. But we can at least serve a purpose now. We can do something to make sure others don’t have to go through this. That means we cannot make another mistake like that. We cannot let another man die because someone was too selfish to tell us they were losing control.”

No, we can’t be selfish, Shepherd thought. But maybe I’m asking too much of them.

Humans were primed to survive. He’d seen it in action. One of his men—intestines actually hanging out of his body—had still fought back. He’d actually killed the attacking Skull, and then he’d turned to Shepherd and asked for help. There hadn’t been anything to do, of course. The man was already as good as dead after the first bite.

Earlier, he had watched Costas divvy up the Phoenix Compound among his people. The sergeant had chosen who was saved and who was destined for a fate worse than death. Shepherd had not envied him the task.

That had been several hours ago. Back when there was still a shred of hope that they might find military aid in time to save everyone, including the infected. Shepherd had put off the inevitable until it was too late, and now one of the airmen had turned.

He couldn’t put it off any longer.

He willed his voice to remain strong as he looked at each of the men and women, making sure to catch their gaze one by one.

“The mission comes first.” A Skull shrieked in the distance. Another—this one closer—cried out in response. It would be mere minutes before the monsters descended on them. “Costas? Any luck with that radio?”

Costas tried the radio again. He searched desperately for anything other than crackling static. He shook his head slowly.

Shepherd took a deep breath. “If you haven’t been treated by the Phoenix Compound, I need you to step forward right now.”

A few shuffled forward immediately. Two of them were using thick branches as canes. Another leaned on one of the healthy individuals for support. Almost half the group was suffering from the Oni Agent. It was no use pretending you hadn’t been scratched or bitten, no use hiding now. The symptoms were already too advanced. Not a single one among them was without the telltale crimson-tinted eyes and yellowed, clawlike nails. One man was quivering, his fingers twitching as if he was struggling to hold back from biting his neighbor.

Shepherd knew what he had to do. That whole speech about putting the mission first...he hadn’t been speaking to these men and women as much as to himself, trying to justify what he was about to do.

“All of you will get in the cabin now,” Shepherd began. Whispers and mutters rose, but he waved them away. “This is the way it has to be. We’ll leave you with some weapons, but we can’t take you any farther. It’s too much of a risk.”

“You cannot do this to us! We will die here!” one of the men yelled, his voice thick with his accent.

“Please,” a woman pleaded, “I am well. I am healthy enough to make it. I promise.” Her eyes, however, glowed red, and her hands, clenched together, were marred by protruding vessels that appeared almost black against her tanned flesh.

Another man grabbed Shepherd’s lapels. His breath was hot and stank of the rot already churning in his guts. “You cannot leave us to die,” he said in broken English. “This is cruel. It is not right.”

Shepherd pushed the man off, trying to tamp down the shame. “We have no choice. We have to move.” Then, as if in afterthought, he said, “When we find help, we’ll send a rescue team back.”

One of the men who had been standing still and quiet until now suddenly looked up. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out, only a shrill, primal yell as he lunged at Shepherd, fingers outstretched and mouth chomping. Another of the infected struck the man with her rifle. She stood over him, aiming at the man’s chest and pleading with him in Portuguese to stop. When the man slashed at her instead, she fired.

The woman kicked the dead man over so he was facedown, bleeding into the dirt. “The American is right. We must stay behind. We are a danger now.”

Another howl drifted through the trees. They would be at this site in minutes.

The woman inhaled sharply and strode over to Shepherd, her back straight and her head held high. “We are the walking dead. There is no denying our fate.” She translated her words into Portuguese for the others. “But we can still be useful. Bring the monsters to us. We will deal with them while the rest of you escape.”

The rest of the infected were silent. At last, one stepped forward to stand by the woman. Others followed his lead until all but a couple had joined her. Those last two appeared too sick and too far gone to understand what they were being asked to do.

“Allow us a small stock of ammunition,” the woman said to Shepherd. “We will kill as many of them as possible.”

“That, we can certainly provide,” Shepherd said, signaling to the others to give them some. Then he leaned closer toward her. “You are very brave. I will not forget your sacrifice, nor will any of us that live to tell what happened here. What’s your name, ma’am?”

She hesitated before answering. “Maria,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “My name is Maria.”

Another eerie chorus of Skulls’ voices rose. They were close, perhaps just at the edge of the trees.

“Go,” she said, louder now. “Go!”

Shepherd signaled the others to move out as Maria commanded her small squad of infected into the cabin. Sergeant Costas saluted her and then turned on his heel, marching quickly to catch up with Shepherd. Soon the cabin disappeared into the mist behind them. A heavy weight settled over Shepherd’s shoulders, more burdensome than his pack full of supplies.

After twenty minutes of brisk marching, the first pop of gunfire sounded from behind them. The clash of demonic voices and barking rifles lasted for only a few minutes before the forest went still again.

Shepherd had no illusions as to who had won that battle. Even if the humans had been victorious, the Oni Agent would eventually win. And the Oni Agent would keep on winning until all of humanity was wiped from the face of the planet. Their best hope—perhaps their only hope—was to deliver Matsumoto, the young scientists, and the previous seed samples of the Phoenix Compound to Kinsey.

You did the right thing, Shepherd told himself. The only thing. Now keep marching, soldier. Double time.

-30-

A ghastly wail drifted across the island. The fire still flickered in the distance, consuming the isolation ward. Lauren held the cold steel of the rifle in her hand. It was uncomfortable, awkward. Unfamiliar. She was used to tools that saved people’s lives, not ones that took those lives.

Peter shifted the handgun back and forth as he crouched beside her. His face was a pale shade of green, as though the mere act of holding the pistol made him sick. Peter had never been in a battlefield like this.

Neither have I, Lauren thought. Not really.

She’d been on the cruise ship in Chesapeake Bay the day Hector had died during an ill-fated rescue attempt. But she hadn’t come face-to-face with Skulls in the wild on her own. She clenched her jaw. Her courage couldn’t fail her now. People’s lives relied on her and Peter making it to the clinic.

“Huntress, this is Lauren,” she called over a comm link Chao had given her.

“Chao here. I read you loud and clear.”

“We were ambushed by a Skull,” Lauren said. “Our driver and escort are both down. We’re on our own.”

“Oh shit,” Chao said. The comm specialist was never one to lose his cool, and the profanity shocked Lauren. But she could imagine what was going through his mind. Two of the ship’s most important medical assets were on their own in the field and in direct contact with a Skull.

“Are you okay? Can you get somewhere safe?” Chao asked.

“We’re hiding outside an abandoned cottage for the moment.” Lauren surveyed the landscape. “The fire hasn’t been put out at Lajes. They still need our help.”

“This was supposed to be a medical mission,” Chao said. “I’m going to have Frank pick you two up. Be prepared to signal him as soon as you see the chopper.”

“Copy,” Lauren said. “We’ll watch for Frank.”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. “At least we have a ride out of this mess.”

“We’re still going to help those people.”

“I know,” Peter said. “But I’d rather have an exit plan.”

A Skull cried out somewhere in the distance.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Lauren said. “One minute it looks like we have it under control, then the next the whole plan has gone to hell.”

Peter stared at the fire consuming Lajes. “It’s not just the plan that’s gone to hell.”

“Come on.” Lauren stood and helped Peter to his feet. “Might as well make ourselves at home.”

She tried the door to the cottage. The handle didn’t budge, but the wooden frame seemed rotten. She threw her shoulder into the door, and it burst inward, spraying chunks of soft wood into the dark interior. She had only a small penlight for patient exams. The weak beam did little to shove aside the darkness.

She motioned Peter into the house, and he closed the door behind him. He promptly barricaded it with a mildewed sofa.

“I’m not sure if I like this place any better,” he said, sniffing the air. “Smells like death.”

The odor of decay and rotting meat hung in the air. “Probably some animal that came in to die,” Lauren offered.

“You don’t really believe that.”

Lauren searched the cottage with her penlight. “God, I hope Sean’s okay,” she said as they moved into the kitchen.

Peter made a noncommittal noise, his arm still shaking as his handgun roved over the room’s table. Four chairs lay strewn about the tiled floor. “Nothing in here.”

He went to the pantry and flipped open the door. Something burst out, and he jumped backward, firing a shot into the floor.

“Damn it!” he yelled.

It was only a rat. The animal scurried away and disappeared into a hole in the baseboard.

“Careful, Peter,” Lauren said.

A guttural roar sounded. They both spun on their heels.

“That wasn’t outside, was it?” Lauren said.

“No,” Peter said. “No, it wasn’t.”

She eased out of the kitchen, her feeble light probing the darkness. They prowled toward the hall. There appeared to be just three doors in the short corridor. Bedroom, bathroom, closet, Lauren guessed.

“Which door?” Peter asked. “Guess right, and get a prize.”

“Let’s go with door number one.”

The growling grew louder at the sound of her voice.

Peter spoke into his comm link. “Frank, are you on your way? Our safe house isn’t so safe.”

They began backing away from the door. Lauren kept her flashlight trained on it. As soon as that bastard showed itself, she would take it down.

“At least we know where it is,” she said. “Much better than being ambushed outside.”

“Sure,” Peter said, sounding uncertain.

“I’m fixing to have you out of there in a couple minutes, my good doctors,” Frank said in some kind of mock Southern drawl. The man had the oddest sense of humor. “Y’all just hang tight. Ol’ Frank is coming in for the rescue.”

“Two minutes?” Peter asked. “Better not be any—”

Something slammed against the front door. Lauren’s heart threatened to jump from her chest, and electric adrenaline careened through her body. The door shook, but the couch held. The window, however, did not.

Glass shards flew across the room, cutting Lauren and Peter like so many tiny daggers. A man lunged through the window.

No, not a man. Not anymore. He wore a shredded airman’s uniform, and his flesh was a sickly gray beneath the torn clothes. Ropey muscles bulged, and small bony protuberances budded from his flesh. His nails had already grown into short claws. He came at Peter and Lauren like a whirlwind of rage.

Lauren tried to swing her rifle to fire on their new enemy. The infected man was quicker. He ducked under the blast and hit Peter hard in the ribs. The air whooshed from Peter’s lungs, and he crashed into the ground with a pained grunt. The pistol flew from his hand.

Before she could fire again, the bedroom door behind her crashed open. A woman lumbered out. Her hair hung matted and tangled between budding horns. A rope was still dangling from her neck, as if she had tried to end her own life when she realized what was happening to her. But it hadn’t worked.

Lauren turned the gun on her instead. The first shot caught her arm. She fired again and again as the woman charged. Bullets flew wild. Some lanced through the woman’s flesh. Others plunged into the wall behind her. But nothing seemed to slow the crazed Skull.

At the last second, Lauren dodged, and the woman went sprawling across the floor. Her body slammed into the other Skull, knocking him off Peter. Blood covered the back of Peter’s head where he’d smacked it against the floor, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. He scooped up his pistol just as the two Skulls recovered.

Lauren sent a flurry of bullets punching into them. Peter swung the pistol around in time to shoot the one nearest him in the face. The female Skull fell and then began to crawl toward him. Blood wept from her wounds and trickled out of the corners of her mouth. Lauren pulled the trigger of her rifle, but the bolt had locked back.

Empty.

Peter was out of bullets too. He cursed and slammed the handle of the pistol into the female Skull’s face. He hammered again and again, until her fingers stopped twitching and her tongue lolled out. He kept going, caving in bone and flesh. Soon all that was left was pulpy mess.

“Peter,” Lauren said.

He didn’t respond.

“Peter!”

Lauren grabbed his shoulder, and he wheeled around on her. For a moment, she thought he was going to hit her, too. But his eyes cleared, and he dropped the pistol.

“She’s gone. We’re safe,” Lauren said.

The low growl of another Skull told her she was wrong. Another had appeared in the open window. It stared at them, its eyes growing wide with hunger, and started to climb inside. Lauren grabbed her rifle, ready to use it as a club, when two more Skulls appeared behind it.

But then she heard a sound even more glorious than when the lab computer pinged with favorable results from an experiment. The thumping blades of a chopper. The Skulls looked to the commotion, and a blinding white spotlight hit them head on. There was a crackle of gunfire, and all three Skulls fell limp in the window.

“Looks like y’all are having a party and didn’t invite me,” Frank’s voice boomed over their comm links.

“Is it clear out there?” Lauren asked, brushing flecks of bone and blood off her.

“Won’t be for long if we stay low like this.”

Peter hurried to his feet, and they shoved the couch aside. The rush of air pushed down by the blades threatened to blow them backward, but Lauren didn’t mind. She rushed to the chopper with Peter by her side. Johnson and Taggart, two of the Huntress’s engineers, helped them in. Like her, they weren’t trained soldiers. But when their comrades had been in danger, they’d become what they had to.

Frank waved from the pilot’s seat, his characteristic shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “Next stop, Dante’s Inferno. I hope you brought marshmallows, because things are about to get toasty.”

-31-

Dom winced at the sound of blaring alarms.

“We never catch a break,” Dom muttered. Into his comm link, he said, “Bravo, SITREP.”

“The bad guys are no longer with us,” Meredith said. “But more may be on the way. Proceed as planned?”

Dom looked around at the others. They looked determined. He expected nothing less from his Hunters.

“They might just think a Skull has gone AWOL,” Miguel offered.

“I sure as shit hope you’re right, bro,” Spencer said. “But I reckon they’re not that dumb.”

Dom looked up at Jenna. She was perched on the corner of a squat, two-story warehouse. The best part of operating in the port, Dom decided, was the sheer amount of cover and elevation everywhere. It was a covert ops dream. “Got an estimate on numbers?”

“Thirty, maybe forty men running around. A dozen posted outside the warehouse Andris and Meredith are headed to.” She peered into one of the many skylights on the warehouse roof. “This place is divided up into a bunch of smaller rooms separated by chain link and wooden boards. Hold on a sec.” She paused. “There’s something else...a sterilization chamber like they’ve got a high-tech lab. BSL3 or 4, maybe.”

“Damn,” Glenn said. “We hit the motherlode, didn’t we?”

“Won’t know until we get in there,” Dom said. “Any sign of Spitkovsky?”

“Haven’t seen the ugly asshole yet,” Jenna said.

Dom yearned to wrap his fingers around the man’s neck. This time, he wouldn’t let go. Even if it cost another bullet or two in his leg, it would be a small price to pay.

“Any Titans?” he asked.

“No,” Jenna said. “Honestly, I don’t think they can fit a Titan in here.”

Dom’s eyes shot toward the other warehouses. Maybe they had a Titan or two hidden in one of those. He didn’t really believe it, though. Something else was going on here, something more troubling than what they’d witnessed in the Congo.

“Any indication how these guys are controlling the Skulls if the Titans aren’t around?” he asked.

“I can’t tell from here,” Jenna said.

“Then we’re going in there to see,” Dom said. He considered their options. Either they could barge in through the front entrance and engage the guards head-on, risking casualties, or they could try something with a little more flair—a little more risk—but a higher reward if they pulled it off. Dom knew what choice Meredith would make if she were in his shoes. He signaled the rest of the Hunters to the roof with Jenna.

This was far too ripe of an opportunity for Dom to pass up. The intel inside this lab could prove extraordinarily helpful. He stared through the skylight at computers.

“Want me to get us down there, Chief?” Miguel asked as he examined the rooftop for access points.

“Proceed.”

“Consider it done.” Miguel flipped open a panel on his prosthetic arm. He tapped on one of the small buttons concealed there. “Stand back. It’s going to get a little messy.”

A thin stream of acid, modeled after the Droolers’ weapon of choice, jetted from a nozzle in the prosthetic. It sizzled against the silicone seal of the nearest skylight. Miguel stepped back to admire his handiwork.

“Door’s open, my friends,” he said.

Glenn and Spencer grasped the edges of the glass and placed it aside. Jenna uncoiled a rappelling rope from her pack and secured it to a pipe poking up from the roof. She tugged the rope to check her knots.

Dom perched over the edge, staring down into the warehouse. It wasn’t like the high-tech facility in the Congo. Everything here appeared industrial and neglected. Rust pocked the metal walls, and dust covered the floors. Dried brown stains marred the concrete. It looked like old blood.

A thousand nightmarish thoughts swirled through Dom’s mind about why bloodstains would turn up in a place like this. But after everything he had witnessed since the Oni Agent outbreak, there was one thing he knew for certain. Whatever dark scenarios he could imagine, the reality was likely worse.

“Miguel, Jenna, you two first. Glenn, Spencer, take rear guard. When we get down there, top priority is to establish uplinks to the Huntress. Secondary is disrupting all activities taking place here. I want Spitkovsky to know we crashed his party.”

Miguel perked up at that. “Party crashing, huh? I’m good at that.”

“Then get to it.”

Miguel and Jenna crouched over the open skylight, their eyes searching the floors and catwalks below. With a nod from Dom, Miguel took hold of the rope, unspooled it into the space, and slid down it. Jenna followed quickly after.

“All clear,” Miguel said through the comm link.

Dom wrapped his arms and legs around the rope and began his descent. The muscles in his wounded leg burned as he accelerated toward the floor. The pain almost made him lose his grip on the rope, but he clenched his jaw, determined to get through it. He hit the ground hard, his leg buckling under him. Miguel helped him stand.

“You good, Chief?” he asked. He wore a serious, professional expression, but Dom could see the worry behind his brown eyes.

“Rusty on the landing, that’s all,” Dom said. Then he chinned the mic to send a command to Spencer and Glenn. “Clear.”

The two big men came sliding down with far more grace than Dom. Once they hit the floor, Alpha team spread out among the crates and boxes, bristling with weapons and awaiting their next move. Jenna peered down one passage, and Miguel checked another.

“Clear,” they both said.

Dom signaled them on toward the first bank of computers. Most of the machines were powered down. Hand-scrawled notes covered lab notebooks and other loose papers on the makeshift worktops.

“Russian and Farsi,” Glenn explained. He took snapshots of all the notes to translate later.

“Jenna, start with the uplinks,” Dom commanded.

Jenna fished out a handful of USB sticks from her pocket and plugged them in as she powered on the computers.

“Huntress, Alpha here,” Dom said. “We’re installing uplinks.”

“Copy,” Chao said. “Ready as soon as they come online.”

Before Dom could say more, the tap of footsteps echoed off the walls. Dom signaled for Alpha team to take cover. They ducked behind the desks, rifles aimed toward the open door.

The footsteps grew louder, more numerous. Dom’s heart raced, and his finger twitched at the trigger guard. He pictured the rope still hanging from the sunlight, half-hidden in the dark corner of the warehouse but still noticeable by a scrutinizing eye. Voices called out. He estimated at least a half-dozen hostiles. With surprise on their side, Alpha team could take them down. But the resulting fray wouldn’t be worth it. There was still much of the lab to be explored, and Dom didn’t want to get mired in a gunfight before they had a chance to do so.

The voices were yelling out in what sounded like alarm. They were almost to the entrance now. Then Dom saw the first one. He expected a man dressed in black fatigues not so different from his own. But instead, Dom saw some type of bulky armor encasing the man’s limbs and legs.

More of them flashed by. All seemed to be wearing the same strange body armor. None stopped to investigate the room. Their footsteps pounded into the distance.

“What in the hell was that?” Spencer asked.

No one had an answer for him.

“Miguel, Jenna, clear the passage,” Dom said. “We need to get to the bank of computer terminals in the next chamber.”

They began stalking through the hallways with shadows as their only cover. They passed by more bloodstained floors and walls. Something tingled at the back of Dom’s neck, and his eyes danced nervously across the space as they entered the next room. They managed to connect the uplinks without incident, but as they made their way back into the passage, Dom paused.

A low groan had caught his ears. He froze, holding one hand up. The others looked around. Judging by their expressions, he hadn’t been the only one to hear the noise.

Dom crept around a stack of crates toward a rusted metal door. The noise seemed to be coming from the other side. Two men stood in front of the door. They looked bored.

Before Dom could duck, one trained his eyes on him. He reached for his radio and began to speak. Dom sprang into action. He charged the man and slammed the butt of his rifle into the guard’s hand, knocking the radio aside. With another swing, he sent the man’s teeth chattering together, and a knee to the stomach left the man choking for air. One final blow knocked him to the floor, blood pooling from a busted nose and jaw.

Jenna had acted a split second after Dom and now had her arm wrapped around the other guard’s neck. His face turned white then blue as he struggled for air. His fingers lashed out against Jenna’s arms. The man’s eyes searched Dom’s, at first with seething hatred and rage then a strange vulnerability, as if he was asking for help. As if he couldn’t understand how his evening had gone so terribly wrong.

Finally, Jenna lowered his body next to the other guard’s and used the back of her hand to wipe the sweat from her brow. “Damn, Captain, it’s hard to keep up with you.”

Dom refrained from grinning, but only just. It was a small bit of satisfaction to know he could still strike like a jaguar despite the pain radiating through his leg. “This old man can still move.”

“Won’t argue with you there, but a little warning would be nice.”

“I’ll ask the next bastards to give us a head start.”

Jenna offered a playful grin back. Her expression slipped when the groaning from behind the door started again. Dom pressed his ear to the cool steel. He signaled for Jenna and Miguel to cover him. Spencer and Glenn watched the hall.

There was a moment of hesitation. Maybe they didn’t need to know what was behind that door. Maybe it would only cause trouble.

But he might be inches away from knowing what Spitkovsky’s plans were. There was no way he could pass this opportunity up. His fingers curled around the door handle, and he gave it a tug.

Locked. He signaled to Miguel.

The Hunter withdrew a lock-picking kit from his prosthetic and inserted a probe into the lock. It took only a few seconds before he was rewarded with a satisfying click. Miguel and Jenna stepped back, their rifles shouldered, as Dom nudged the door open slowly. The groaning sounded louder, and a wave of rot slammed into Dom’s nostrils. He repressed an instinctive urge to gag and pushed into the dark.

Dom’s stomach lurched at the sight that lay before him. There were no Skulls in here. No Droolers or Goliaths. No Titans.

The sight was far more terrifying.

They had found the missing American SEAL team.

-32-

Andris surveyed the guards stationed around the munitions warehouse. The cool sea breeze did nothing to alleviate the desperation rising in his chest. He and Meredith needed to do something fast. They could not wait the whole night out here for the soldiers to go back to their routine duties.

He tried counting the guards posted behind sandbag bunkers. There were at least twenty at the entrance of the building, and they appeared to be vigilant. He did not like their chances.

“It looks as if it will be very difficult to make it in there now,” Andris said.

“Probably shouldn’t have tripped the alarm, huh?”

“Eh, things were too easy for us. Sometimes it is good to face a challenge.”

“You’re only saying that now because we have no other choice. I would’ve been perfectly content to sneak in there without the extra guards.”

“As you Americans like to say, beggars cannot be the choosers. We still need explosives.”

Andris put his eye to his rifle’s scope again and swept it over the shipyard. He could see the plan unfolding in his mind—make it into the warehouse, steal what they needed, then be off. There was only one problem. He sighed and lowered his rifle.

“I cannot see a good way in,” he said. “Not from here.”

Meredith crouched beside him and put down her binos. “Same. I don’t want to start a firefight we can’t win.”

Andris tapped his rifle. “I could shoot them all from here. One at a time. Like shooting potatoes in a wheelbarrow.”

“Fish in a barrel isn’t good enough for you?”

“In Latvia, potatoes are easier to shoot than fish.”

“Wait, you guys actually hunt potatoes?”

Andris let out another defeated sigh. “No, Meredith. It is a joke.”

“Thank God,” Meredith said. “I thought you were going a little crazy on me.”

“It is being around all these Russians that is the problem,” he said. “This is why I want to shoot them all.” Andris traced his scope over the shipyard, looking for something he had missed before. Then he saw it.

“I have another idea,” Andris said.

“I’d welcome a non-crazy one.”

“Follow me,” Andris said. They flitted from the crates they were hiding behind to more cover farther along, working their way closer to another warehouse. “In Latvia, as a boy, I was always getting into trouble. I was not a studious type.”

“No kidding?” Meredith asked, her words reeking of sarcasm.

He stopped behind a stack of oil drums. Meredith slid next to a nearby crate. She signaled there were two contacts headed his direction. Their footsteps clattered over the shipyard as he pressed himself low and tight against the oil drums. Soon the footsteps faded, and he sprinted to the next set of concrete barriers surrounding a warehouse. This one was left largely unguarded. Two soldiers stood before the entrances, but their eyes were trained on the munitions depot.

He paused, watching the two guards. One was picking his nose. These were most definitely not the best of the bunch, unlike those who were guarding the more vital parts of the shipyards. The FGL seemed largely unconcerned about whatever it was that was inside this place.

Andris hoped it would prove to be their downfall.

“I spent much time outside,” Andris said, continuing his story as if there had been no interruption. “Sometimes my friends and I would wander into the farms outside the city on the weekends. We had heard stories about the resistance fighters. They were not well equipped and resorted to guerilla warfare to battle the Nazis and later the Soviets.”

“I can imagine,” Meredith said. “Does this story have a point?”

“They had to do much improvising, these guerillas. In the countryside, they did not have many munitions. But there was one thing they had plenty of.”

“Fertilizer,” Meredith finished for him. “Great idea, Andris. Still crazy, but great idea. Still those types of explosives require very precise measurements. You can’t just mix a bunch of gas and ammonium nitrate and hope for a boom.”

“This is correct,” Andris said. “But I learned much from the old guerillas. There is a reason I am the explosives specialist with the Hunters.”

They slipped alongside the warehouse until they made it to another entrance. This one was unguarded.

“They really are not concerned about this place,” Andris said.

Meredith tested the door. The handle was locked. “My bet is the two guys in front are just keeping watch while everyone else goes to the other warehouse or the labs.”

“We will find out very soon, won’t we?” Andris slammed the butt of his rifle into the handle. It dented but didn’t fall away. A second blow did the trick. He tensed, waiting to hear an alarm from within. But there was nothing.

They crept inside, swallowed by the cavernous darkness of the place. The air was stagnant, thick with the humidity and heat trapped there. A layer of grime and dust seemed to cover most everything. The stench of decaying food wafted from some corner of the place. At least Andris did not smell the distinctive tang of the Skulls, which reminded him of the Riga fish market at the end of a summer’s day.

Andris had guessed this warehouse served as a hub for goods being shipped first by sea and then by trucks that would carry that cargo into the rest of northern Africa. The neglected transport trucks around back by the loading docks had supported those suspicions. Inside, pallets of everything from textiles to drums of oil and shrink-wrapped machinery confirmed he had been right.

It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for: commercial-grade fertilizers. Andris selected one that contained ammonium nitrate without additives like urea or ammonium sulfate that would render it inert. Finding fuel and containers to combine the ingredients didn’t prove difficult, given the extent of supplies in the neglected warehouse. All the while, Meredith watched the doors for him, and he monitored the voices over the radio.

So far, no one had spotted them—or Alpha team. Most talk was still concerned with the activity around the front gates. Andris wondered if his Russian had gotten rusty; people continued to say they had “communicated” with the Skulls or even “talked” them into settling down. It must have been code for something else. What, he could not determine. Right now, his most pressing concern was delivering the explosives to their new homes.

He signaled to Meredith that he was done, and they began creeping back toward where they’d entered. The door still stood ajar.

But something had changed. There were new footprints in the dust covering the floor. They appeared almost clawlike. Very different from the boot prints Meredith and Andris had left earlier.

The sounds of heavy breathing caught their ears, and they swiveled hard to their right.

There, bathed in the dim moonlight, stood a creature that filled Andris with dread.

***

Tendrils of exhaustion crept through Shepherd’s body. They pulled at his insides. His limbs were almost numb with the effort of helping lift Matsumoto. Divya wore a permanent grimace as she trudged along after him, holding the other end of the stretcher. The old man was nothing but dead weight.

Matsumoto was awake now. His features were distorted as if he was in pain.

Good, Shepherd thought. Let him bear some of this burden.

Shepherd wanted to ask Navid how Terrence was holding up. But one glance at the Hunter’s face told him everything he needed to know. They had given him all the painkillers they’d been able to salvage from the wreck. That amounted to mostly over-the-counter pain meds in a standard first-aid kit. None of the barbiturates or sedatives they’d been using to handle his third-degree burns.

Sergeant Costas looked shell-shocked. The man was clearly haunted by the people they had been forced to leave behind. Rory and Rachel offered a shoulder each to a man with a twisted ankle. Rich and Tammy were no longer relegated to comforting their son; they’d inherited a couple of weapons from the dead airmen and had been given hasty lessons on how to use them.

They were a sorry bunch.

“Please tell me someone is listening to that radio,” Shepherd said to Costas.

The man quite literally shook himself out of his stupor. “What? Oh, yes, I will try again.”

Shepherd had long since learned to expect nothing more than static. And once again, his expectations were met. If they didn’t catch a break soon, Shepherd feared that their grim parade would no longer be able to continue. They were utterly demoralized after leaving their brothers and sisters behind. Now they were driven by rote duty, and it was Shepherd’s responsibility to guide these people through these Skull-infested woods.

Onward they trekked, heading west along a gravelly trail. Every so often, they ran into a skeleton of some poor animal picked clean of flesh, marrow sucked from the bones. At first the macabre tableaus were a chilling reminder that the Skulls still lurked in the woods somewhere. But after a while, repetition made the sight routine. A man could see only so many skeletons before he got bored.

It wasn’t until a Skull shrieked nearby that the icy fingers of fear stabbed deep into Shepherd’s bones again. Unlike the howls and wails they had heard before, this one sounded close. Very close.

Sticks and leaves cracked. Something huffed; it reminded Shepherd of a tiger or some other beast sniffing the air for signs of prey. He didn’t think the Skulls’ sense of smell was any better than a human’s. But what did he know? When the outbreak happened, he hadn’t expected there to be Droolers or Goliaths or Titans either.

Good God, what fresh hell have we walked into?

The Portuguese soldiers looked about nervously. Tension hung in the air thicker than the fog.

“Keep moving,” Shepherd whispered. Stopping here would do no good. If the Skulls were trying to surround them, it would be suicide to stand here and let it happen.

Shepherd wished he had a pair of infrareds right now to pierce the fog shrouding this damned forest. But wishes wouldn’t save lives. Wishes wouldn’t get Matsumoto to Kinsey or ensure the Phoenix Compound seed samples made it where they needed to go.

Only Shepherd and these soldiers could make that happen.

Something hit the ground behind him. He spun, bringing his pistol to bear.

Navid looked up from the ground. He rubbed his ankle and then picked up his end of Terrence’s stretcher. “Sorry, I slipped.”

The young scientist’s normally healthy brown skin looked a shade paler.

“You okay?” Shepherd asked.

Navid nodded. Of course the young man wasn’t okay. He wasn’t a trained soldier, he was burdened by a battlefield casualty, and he was in the middle of enemy territory after a traumatic plane wreck.

More heavy breathing sounded behind the group. Maybe it was a pack of dogs or wolves.

Shepherd glanced around at the soldiers. Sweat dripped down their foreheads, and they held their weapons in white-knuckled hands. The few who had been injured in the plane crash but hadn’t been scratched or bitten by Skulls struggled to keep up. One man was already lagging. His makeshift tree-branch crutch did little to aid his walking.

“Costas,” Shepherd said, “don’t let those people fall behind.”

Costas blinked, shaking himself out of some post-traumatic trance. He moved toward the man with the crutch.

A shriek tore out of the darkness, followed by a jagged white shape.

“Skull!” Shepherd bellowed.

The monster rammed into the man Costas had intended to help. Its skinny, clawed arms impaled his abdomen. The man let out a horrifying wail. Blood splashed across dried leaves, and the Skull claimed its prize. Skull and man disappeared back into the woods.

One of the Portuguese people immediately rushed after his injured comrade. As the man entered the fog, white claws tore into his fatigues and dragged him away. His kicking legs vanished into the undergrowth, and his pained voice soon gave way to the gurgle of spilling blood.

“Foda-se!” one of the soldiers cursed.

“Stay back!” Shepherd said. “They’re gone. We’ve got to keep moving. Costas, get two new men on rear guard. Move, move, move!”

The group accelerated to a brisk pace. Those that weren’t injured helped the others limp along. Despite their grimaces of pain, no one complained. They knew what was at stake. Walking on a sprain, even a broken ankle, was nothing compared to being eviscerated.

Howls exploded all around. Shepherd broke into a run, and no one else needed a command to follow suit. Heart pounding, he led them onward toward what he hoped would be salvation. His palms grew sweaty, but he swore to himself he wouldn’t let Matsumoto go. Not after having come this far.

One of the beasts darted in from Shepherd’s flank. Holding onto Matsumoto’s stretcher with one hand, Shepherd aimed his pistol with the other. Running and one-handed firing resulted in a mess of potshots that did more damage to the nearby trees than anything else. But enough bullets slammed into the overgrown ribs and bony mask of the Skull to knock the thing down.

He wasn’t sure if he’d killed it or not. He didn’t care. He just needed to move.

Gunshots and yells rang out into the night. Skulls wailed. Another soldier was picked off. An injured woman went down, dragged along the gravel road by two Skulls. The monsters buried their faces into her stomach, jostling with each other for the choicest organs as they devoured her alive.

Connor screamed, and for a moment Shepherd thought the Skulls had taken the child. He looked back to see his mother scoop the boy up, just ahead of a lunging Skull.

Shepherd tasted copper on his tongue. His lungs were on fire, and his heart felt as if it would burst.

Then there was a new sound. One he hadn’t expected.

A hiss, like white noise. Static? The radio?

Shepherd glanced at Costas. The radio still hung across his back, silent.

But as they ran, the sound grew louder.

It wasn’t his imagination at all. Shepherd smelled something other than the rot of stalking Skulls: the saltiness of a seaborne breeze. The trees soon gave way to pavement. A cool wind twisted over the open expanse of a parking lot. It beat back the fog from the forest, providing Shepherd with a clear view. Buildings dotted the landscape below them. There were no lights, no makeshift barricades on the roads as he had seen in other places. Likely, the town had fallen to the Skulls too rapidly for the survivors to organize a defense.

In their current state, Shepherd wasn’t sure they’d make it down the hillside. He wanted to hide in one of those buildings, to find shelter for long enough to rest. Maybe they should try for it. Then he spotted movement in the streets.

At first he thought they were survivors. But as the shapes flitted up the hill toward him in a stooped run, his stomach dropped. More goddamn Skulls.

“What are we going to do?” Divya asked, panting. “We can’t keep running.”

Shepherd knew she was right. His own body was giving out. The only thing they could do was turn and fight. But the chorus of hellish voices on all sides told him all he needed to know. They were desperately outnumbered. His eyes searched the coast. Maybe there was a boat they could use.

His eyes grew wide, and his heart leapt in his chest. There was something better than a boat. Just as it had once guided sailors to safety, it stood now as a beacon of hope.

“The lighthouse!” Shepherd yelled. It was much closer than the town. Close enough that if they ran for it, they might just reach it before the Skulls reached them.

Sergeant Costas sprinted ahead and barged through the wooden door at the bottom of the tower. He ushered his people into the shelter of the stone building. Their boots clanged on the iron spiral staircase as they rushed to the top. Shepherd let one of the soldiers take Matsumoto, and he shifted his rifle off his back, waiting to guard their retreat until everyone was safely inside.

Shortly after, the first Skull showed its face. Stubby horns crowned its head, and its jaw wrenched open to reveal teeth cracked and broken from all the bones it had chewed. It let out an earsplitting wail, and its spikes bristled.

Shepherd plugged the bastard with multiple rounds. It went down screaming, still trying to reach him even as its brethren trampled it. The beasts surged into the bottom of the lighthouse, flooding the bottom floor. They shoved and impaled each other, desperate to be the first one to the top.

Costas and a few others stopped on the steps, sending salvo after salvo into the Skulls. The floor was clotted with bodies, yet still the Skulls continued. They wormed their way through the piles of corpses at the lighthouse’s entrance. They would not be stopped until every last one of them was dead. Through sheer numbers, they drove Shepherd and the soldiers back up the stairs.

“We will not die today!” Costas yelled.

Shepherd wanted to share the enthusiasm ringing in Costas’s voice. Maybe they did stand a chance. The Skulls were still pouring in but at a slower rate. Perhaps the tide of the battle had turned in their favor for once.

A roar unlike any of the other Skulls blasted from outside the tower. It was answered by another that shook the dust from the lighthouse’s rafters. All hope of safety was instantly destroyed.

“What in God’s name was that?” Costas asked.

Shepherd swallowed hard. “Goliaths.”

-33-

Nausea wrapped its slimy fingers around Dom’s stomach. He had seen death. He had seen Skulls. He had seen people devoured alive.

But he had never seen anything like this.

“What...what are they?” Jenna asked.

“This ain’t good, bro,” Spencer said. “This ain’t good.”

“Chao,” Dom said through the comm link. “You getting this?”

“Yes, Captain,” Chao said, sounding almost defeated. “We can see it all. Your helmet-cams are too good.”

Iron bars separated sections of the dark prison. The place smelled like sweat and feces and open sores left untended. Behind those bars were people, pressed into the cramped spaces tighter than cigarettes in a pack. A few wore the remnants of US Navy SEAL fatigues. Others appeared to be local civilians.

Many of them reached toward the Hunters, their hands raking the air and growls gurgling in their throats. They looked like emaciated zombies. Their skin was pulled tight over their faces, and their eyes were sunken. But the worst part wasn’t their state of near-starvation but the extreme lack of respect for human dignity shown by the FGL.

The American nearest Dom opened his mouth. His words were garbled at first. Then, more clearly, he said, “Help...us. Help, please.”

Dom wasn’t sure what he could do. The man reached out as if to grab his collar and pull him in close. Instead of human hands, he had claws like a Skull’s. Bony plates covered the man’s arm. Flesh still showed between the plates, oozing with pus and blood. His shoulder blades flared behind him, and his vertebrae stuck out like fins.

He looked like a Skull caught in mid-transition, neither fully human nor a mindless monster.

Every plate and bony appendage was perfectly oriented as if it had all been deliberately designed. If Dom squinted, he thought it was almost as if this man were wearing armor.

“Help,” the American said again. “It hurts...so...bad.”

“What the hell happened to you?” Dom asked.

“They...they did this to us,” another SEAL answered.

Dom struggled to look the man in the eye. He couldn’t fathom the unimaginable horrors these people had gone through. Behind him, Jenna quietly retched.

“They look like Skulls,” Glenn said slowly as if trying to figure it out as he spoke. “But they don’t act like Skulls. That’s...interesting.”

One of the Americans pawed at the bars. He still had a name badge secured to his torn fatigues. Reynolds. The man was as skinny as the others, as if he’d lived through a death camp. But there was fire in his eyes. “Interesting? They made us like those monsters, but we kept our brains.” The man’s voice was raspy, as if he was constantly on the verge of a death rattle. He shuddered, looking at the back of his hands as though he still couldn’t believe bone was growing out of them. “I can still feel it moving. Pushing out of my bones, through my muscles.”

“Good God,” Dom said. “We’ll fix this.”

Reynolds laughed. “Fix this? Look at us, brother. Do we look like we can be fixed? The only thing you can do to fix me is put a gun to my temple and pull the goddamned trigger.”

“Shit,” Miguel said, shaking his head. He spoke rapidly in Spanish, raking a gloved hand across his scalp.

Dom looked at Reynolds. The man met his gaze, steely as any SEAL Dom had ever had the pleasure of working with. He hated himself for the question he was about to ask, but he had no choice. “Is it safe to let you out?”

Reynolds, to his credit, didn’t look the least bit scornful. “Me and my boys, you can trust. Some of the others in those cages”—he nodded toward the prison cells deeper in the compound—“they were the first test subjects. I don’t think the experiments worked so well on them.”

Jenna approached the cells he’d indicated. Toward the end, the Skull-human hybrids reached out for her, not imploringly as the SEALs had, but hungrily.

“Eat...eat...eat,” one of the American Skull-men said.

Another muttered in Arabic, throwing his ragged body at the bars. Another—this one female—snarled and bashed her own head against the bars in a deranged frenzy. Blood trickled down her nose.

“Why would they do this?” Spencer asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Miguel asked. “It’s like the Titan project, only worse. These are the real super-soldiers, bro. This is what they wanted.”

Dom turned back to Reynolds. “We’ll get you out of here. We’ve got a ship, medical supplies. Talented doctors. We can get you back to the States.” He looked at the Moroccans. A few seemed to be listening. “We can get you all out of here.”

One of the civilians stumbled forward. His face twisted into a snarl like a rabid dog. At first Dom thought the man was going to lunge at him through those bars. “I do not want to live like this.” He held his hands up. They were more bone than flesh and blood. “The pain is too much. Like my body is on fire.”

Another man was grinding his teeth, rocking back and forth and nodding as if to agree. “All I want is to die.”

A Moroccan had other plans. “Let us out. Let us attack the dogs who did this.” His eyes twitched as he spoke, vessels bulging in the flesh left on his forehead. “I would have as many die at my hands as I could before they killed me. It is what they deserve.”

“Let Allah judge their souls,” another said, standing tentatively, his voice hoarse and his accent harsh, “and let me send them to Him.”

Reynolds opened his mouth to speak. Then one of his hands shot to his stomach, and he doubled over. The man spoke through gritted teeth. “You cannot imagine what it feels like to have these bones piercing your insides. Every movement hurts. Like needles in my lungs and stomach.” His eyes flitted across the Moroccan’s face. “He is right, though. These bastards deserve to die. And I would be happy to make that happen.”

Dom hesitated. “I don’t know...”

Reynolds’s claws clicked together, grinding as his fingers curled into fists. “Please. It would be a mercy to die in a hail of bullets. And an even greater mercy to die after having taken them down with us.”

Dom considered the request for a moment. Maybe it was cowardly to let them sacrifice themselves rather than shooting them himself. But they wanted this. Dom couldn’t say he blamed them. If someone had done this to him...to Meredith. Dear God, to Kara or Sadie. He clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around his rifle just thinking about it.

“Fine,” Dom said. “But you have to understand, we came here for a purpose. We need to stop the shipments they’re trying to send out of here.”

Reynolds looked at him through narrowed eyes. Dom thought Reynolds was angry, but as the man started to double over again, he realized it was the pain coursing through his deformed body. Once Reynolds recovered, he managed a nod.

“Understood,” Reynolds said, though he sounded considerably weaker than before. “What are these shipments?”

“We suspect it’s a new version of the Oni Agent—the biological weapon that caused this mess in the first place. They’ve altered it. Made it airborne.”

“Damn,” one of the Americans said, his hand on a bar to steady himself. “That...that’s not good.”

“No, it’s not,” Dom agreed.

“You think they’re...ugh.” Reynolds paused, winced, and then continued. “You think they’re loading the new Agent on ships?”

“Why do you ask?”

“No production facilities here.”

Dom’s surprise must’ve shown on his face.

“Look,” Reynolds said, “before we were caught, we scouted this whole place. The only labs are in here, across from our little prison. All they’ve been doing is processing Skulls in and out of there.”

Dom considered the implications. If they weren’t producing the Agent here, then what was on those ships?

***

The lone Skull stood in the doorway of the warehouse, moonlight bathing the bleached bone covering its limbs. It looked at Meredith with a calculating expression, and its mouth opened, revealing serrated teeth.

There was intelligence in those eyes. She had expected it to howl or shriek, to call all the Skulls in Tangier to join its hunt. Instead, it spoke.

In fact, it was yelling at them in Russian. And as it stepped into a pool of light, she saw the Skull held a rifle that it promptly brought to its shoulder and aimed at Meredith.

Meredith fired first. Bullets crashed into the Skull, punching into bone and flesh. Blood splattered out of exit wounds. The Skull staggered. It appeared surprised. An expression Meredith was wholly unused to seeing on these monsters. She stalked toward it, keeping her weapon aimed at it as the blood pooled around it.

Andris covered her. “It said ‘stop.’ It actually spoke. Meredith, what is happening?”

“Maybe it was a human in armor. Like the CDF.” Alizia and her militia had fashioned makeshift armor out of Skull parts. But as she drew near the figure lying prone on the floor, she could see that the bony plates were contoured exactly to the Skull’s body. And the face...it was unlike any Skull she had ever seen.

The creature’s face was completely human.

Except for the fangs, of course.

Then Meredith looked closer. She spotted the radio wire sticking from its ear. The pants it wore were standard-issue Russian infantryman fatigues. It had a holstered pistol that looked freshly oiled. It wore no boots. Instead, its feet were covered in bony claws. But the flesh beneath the monster’s plates wasn’t the sickly pale gray of Skulls.

Meredith sniffed. “It doesn’t smell like a Skull.”

“You are right,” Andris said. “I smell no rotting flesh. No carrion meat.”

“What in the hell?” Meredith chinned her mic. “Alpha, this is Bravo. We just had a strange encounter.”

“Can’t be stranger than ours,” Dom said, sounding uncharacteristically disturbed.

“We ran into a Skull that looked and acted human,” Meredith said. She tried to find the right words to describe it. “It spoke Russian, and it’s wearing pants.”

“I can do you one better,” Dom said. “We found the missing Americans and a bunch of Moroccan prisoners. The FGL is turning people into Skull-like things but keeping their brains intact.”

“Holy shit,” Meredith said. “The FGL’s ‘Human Machine’ mission.”

“Looks like our intel was more right than we knew,” Dom said.

Andris looked at Meredith as he listened in. His mouth hung halfway open, his face wrought in horror. “This is most disgusting.”

More of the mysteries surrounding these facilities began to click into place in Meredith’s mind. “When we overheard them saying they were communicating with the Skulls, they really were talking to the Skulls. They’ve been using these hybrids as intermediaries.”

“You must be right,” Andris said. “That is what they wanted to use the Titans for, but these Hybrids, as you say, must be easier to control.”

“Meredith is always right,” Dom said. She hid a sly smile. “You two be careful. How long until the charges are set?”

“We were just about to—”

Another shape appeared in the doorway to the warehouse. Spikes jutted from the thing’s shoulders, and it too carried a rifle.

Another Hybrid, Meredith thought.

Andris didn’t hesitate. He raked the Hybrid with bullets from its groin to its face. The mutant soldier crumpled, and its rifle clattered on the cement floor. Voices erupted outside, and return fire chewed up the concrete at the doorway.

“Oh dear,” Andris said. “They have brought their friends.”

Meredith and Andris dove for cover behind a pallet of canned food. Rounds crashed into crates and drums. All manner of liquids and foodstuffs spilled across the floor.

The front door to the warehouse burst open. Soldiers flooded in, sprinting through the maze of stored goods. Meredith peered from her hiding spot. There was one other exit toward the rear of the warehouse. She and Andris hadn’t seen how many soldiers waited out there, if any. With bullets flying from the doorway nearest them and soldiers moving in fast in a pincer movement, she decided they had no other choice.

“Andris,” she whispered, “out the back.”

She ran as quietly as she could, half hunched to stay hidden behind a row of pallets piled high with textiles and rugs. A voice boomed from the pack of soldiers. He’d spotted her. The whizz of bullets cutting through the air rippled past her good ear. She didn’t dare look back. Andris sprinted ahead of her, focused on the doorway, their one route to escape.

“Alpha, we’re spotted,” Meredith said breathlessly. “Shipping warehouse, southwest corner.”

“Copy,” Dom said. “We’ll do what we can.”

She could hear the worry in his voice. “See you soon,” she said.

The door at the back of the warehouse clanged open before she and Andris could reach it. Three shapes leapt through it, clearing an entire row of pallets. They moved like Skulls but wielded weapons like humans. More Hybrids. Meredith tried firing on one, but he dodged easily and disappeared behind a stack of crates.

The Hybrids she had faced before had been taken by surprise. They hadn’t had a chance to show off their superhuman prowess.

“More Hybrids,” Meredith said over the comm link. “We’re outnumbered and outgunned.”

“Just hold on,” Dom said. “We’ll be there soon.”

Soon? Dom and the rest of Alpha were on the other side of the shipyard. Soon wouldn’t be soon enough.

A Hybrid pounced from behind a stack of oil drums. He fired at Meredith as he soared overhead. She dove and rolled across the floor. As soon as she recovered, she aimed at where she thought he would be, but the Hybrid was already gone.

Another Hybrid flew toward Andris. He ducked behind a crate and fired. Neither hit his target. But as the Hybrid jumped up, cursing at Andris in Russian, Meredith took aim and squeezed the trigger. Rounds punched into its side, and it collapsed.

The bastards might act like a cross between velociraptors and Cirque du Soleil acrobats, but they weren’t invulnerable.

The other two Hybrids ripped into a pallet full of grain sacks. Rice spilled around her, making it difficult to run, and she scrambled from her position to another with Andris providing cover fire.

The human soldiers’ voices were closing in, and more gunfire pinned them down.

Andris took out a grenade. “Fire in the hole.” He flung it toward the soldiers. An explosion rattled the warehouse. Agonized screams rent the air. Andris threw another grenade before the commotion died down. 

Meredith searched for the two Hybrids. Where had the bastards gone? Her rifle roved over boxes and crates, sacks and drums. There were countless hiding places, and the Hybrids didn’t seem to be in a hurry to show themselves. Bullets slammed into the goods near her, splattering her fatigues with canned peaches. Andris fired haphazardly in a desperate attempt to keep the soldiers back, buying them as much time as he could.

Then Meredith spotted movement overhead.

The Hybrids were above them, crawling in the latticework near the ceiling. Meredith fired at the closest. Bullets riddled his flank, and his claws lost their grip. The Hybrid let out a human wail as he fell. His body hit the floor near Meredith. Bone plates fractured into shards like glass daggers. Meredith shielded her face as more gunfire chattered from above.

She adjusted her aim and fired at the other Hybrid. But he was already moving, answering every blast with bullets from its own gun.

A fresh salvo of rounds from the soldiers forced her to duck. As she did, she lost sight of the Hybrid.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

By the time she spotted him, it was too late. The Hybrid jumped from the ceiling, falling straight toward her with claws outstretched and a disturbingly human grin of victory painted across his face.

-34-

Lauren leaned out the chopper as far as she dared, looking out over the island. A pair of fire engines was parked near the inferno. Neither was being used.

“Forecast calls for record heat waves,” Frank said from the cockpit. “Fortunately, I know of a nice boat with working A/C just off shore.”

“We’ve got to get down there,” Lauren said. “We can’t just let them all die.”

It was too late for some of the people already. Bodies were lying along the tarmac. She guessed they were the soldiers that had been manning the fire engines. They’d obviously been ravaged by a Skull attack. A few of the living ran between the injured, doing what little they could to help. One woman waved frantically at the helicopter.

“Where did they all go?” Peter said, still nervously holding the handgun he’d pulled off the dead soldier in the Humvee. Give the man a scalpel, and he looked as if he were king of the world, but a gun made him terrified. “The Skulls, where are they?”

Pops of gunfire burst near one of the transport planes.

“I’m going to hazard a guess that some of them are over there,” Frank said. His tone turned uncharacteristically serious. “Look, I know you want to help these people. But we gotta keep you two alive.”

Lauren knew he was right. Risking her life to save maybe a couple dozen soldiers wasn’t the logical thing to do. Her work was important to the survival of their entire species. In the grand scheme of things, what were their lives worth? Would they matter in the ongoing war against the Oni Agent?

She hated herself for even thinking like that. It went against all the reasons she had become a doctor. And it wasn’t just Ronaldo’s people down there. Sean was somewhere in that madness, too, and she’d be damned if she would abandon him like this.

“We have to stay,” Lauren said.

“Hey, if you had the Hunters with you, I’d be inclined to give in, but you two aren’t cowboys,” Frank said. “This place is hotter than Satan’s balls.”

“Sean’s down there,” Lauren said.

Without another word, Frank curled the chopper around the burning medical ward. He didn’t take them any lower, but he also didn’t make a beeline back to the ship.

“I’ll hail Sean again,” Frank said, “then I’ll reach out to Ronaldo. If I can raise someone, fine. If not, I gotta take you two lab rats back to the med bay where you belong.”

Frank tried Sean on his personal radio first. “Sean, buddy, you there?” Frank asked over the public comm link channel. “Your ride is here, and the meter’s running, buddy. Come on, pick up.”

There was nothing but silence.

“Maybe he left the radio somewhere,” Peter said. “He might not even know anything’s happening on the island.”

Lauren couldn’t say anything. Frank tried calling Sean again to no avail.

“Don’t know what to say, Doc,” Frank said, twisting the knob on his radio to a different channel. “Lajes Field HQ, Frank Battaglia. Requesting comms.”

Nothing.

“Lajes Field HQ, this is Frank Battaglia, flying the bird above your infirmary. I’m requesting comms with Colonel Ronaldo. Can you confirm receipt?”

Still nothing.

Lauren’s eyes flicked toward the base’s headquarters. Sparks lit up the dark field like fireflies in the night. Gunfire. Maybe everyone had simply been mobilized to defend the base.

But she knew that was too optimistic. Ronaldo’s people wouldn’t abandon their communications posts in a time like this.

Shards of glass exploded from one of the windows on the second floor of the building. A body flew out, followed by a Skull. The victim flailed until their spine slammed against grass and dirt. The Skull buried its face in the person’s stomach.

“That’s it,” Frank said. “I’m heading back.”

“But—”

“Doc, we’re going home,” Frank said, his words terse. “What the hell do you think Dom would say to me if I told him I let our only two doctors, the very scientists who might hold the key to humanity’s future, become nothing but value meals for a bunch of Skulls?”

Lauren fell silent. Frank was right. A suicidal rescue mission to find Sean wasn’t going to solve anything but the nagging guilt biting at the back of her mind. It was selfish. Dom needed her and Peter alive. The Hunters needed them. As egotistical as it sounded, the world might very well need them. Running after Sean like this was foolish.

And besides, who was she kidding? He was probably already dead.

The helicopter turned toward the Huntress and sped away.

“Once I drop you off,” Frank said, “I’ll circle back and see if I can help any survivors.”

Lauren nodded. “We’ll have the med bay ready for patients.”

Peter reached out and grabbed her hand. He hadn’t said a word, but she knew what he was thinking. You didn’t work a decade beside someone in as small a place as the Huntress’s med bay without getting to know someone well.

“He’ll be okay. He’s a fighter,” Peter said.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Lauren lied. She turned away and watched the fire recede into the distance. She wiped her wet eyes with the back of her hand.

Not long after that, Frank touched down hard on the Huntress’s helipad, and Lauren and Peter ducked under the rotors. They ran inside the ship, leaving the chaos of Lajes Field behind. The sterile air of the empty med bay greeted them. Lauren tried to compose herself, to let the stoic mask of professionalism push her emotions to some dark corner that she’d be forced to confront later. She’d done this so many times before as a doctor and scientist.

But right now, she found she couldn’t do it. The tears kept trickling down her cheeks. She prepped sedatives and antiseptics, patient beds and bandages, all in a haze of tears.

***

Andris traded fire with a soldier. A blossom of red bloomed from the man’s forehead, and his body crumpled behind a crate. Another soon took his place, shooting wildly.

There was no way he could hold them back, but he had to try. Meredith, at least, must survive. If she did not, it would be a race to see whether Dom or his own guilt would finish him off first.

That was when he heard the cry of the Hybrid. Andris twisted around. The half-man, half-Skull flung itself from the ceiling. Its claws were aimed straight for Meredith.

No! No! No!

Andris fired.

His shots went wide. Once again, he had failed a teammate when it mattered most.

“Meredith!” Andris cried, rushing toward her.

The Hybrid got there first. They disappeared behind a stack of crates. A spate of bullets slammed into the pallets next to him. Wood splinters shredded his face. He didn’t care. He kept running. He had to save Meredith.

He could no longer hear the rattle of automatic weapons or the voices yelling at him in Russian. His vision tunneled on the path ahead. All his senses were pointed forward. Something crashed into his side. He barely felt it, even though the impact knocked him sideways. Then another hit. Another. They rang through his dulled senses. His chest ached, and his pulse sounded like distant drums in his ears. His head slammed against the concrete.

Pain weaseled through his skull. His head had been saved by the helmet, but the fragile brain inside had been tossed about unmercifully.

More bullets lanced into the goods around him, and he felt something wet pool under him. Was it blood? Maybe it was cooking oil. Andris found he didn’t much care.

Snowflakes appeared in his vision as the world started to fade. A memory emerged from the fog. Faces, voices, distant at first but growing clearer. There he was. Back in Latvia. The first snow of winter. His father had thrown a snowball at him, and Andris had fallen backward into a snowbank. He had stared straight up into the gray sky as snowflakes drifted around him and tickled his face. None of them had gone hungry that day; his uncle had made the trek to go ice fishing and come home with a bountiful harvest of perch and pike, more than enough to fill all their bellies.

His mother had scolded his father for throwing the snowball too hard and knocking him down. Her father had said his son didn’t need coddling. Andris was a strong boy who would grow up to be a strong man. He could take a blow and stand back up.

And that was exactly what he did now.

A raw bolt of energy surged through Andris, as if his father’s spirit were there, helping him stand. Pain wracked his ribs, and his fatigues were sodden. He didn’t care.

Meredith needed help.

He ignored the bullets and the soldiers closing in. There was only Meredith and the Hybrid now. He rounded the crate where he’d seen them disappear. She was there—alive, for now. They’d both dropped their rifles and were engaged in a hand-to-hand struggle. Meredith’s fingers clutched the Hybrid’s wrists as she tried desperately to push him away. There were already rivulets of blood streaming over her face. The Hybrid chomped at her like a common Skull, but as he did, he laughed.

He actually fucking laughed.

Andris let go of his rifle. There was no good way to get a bead on the Hybrid. He was too entangled with Meredith. Instead, Andris threw himself at the Hybrid.

The unnatural creature turned toward this new threat, his eyes widened, taken by surprise. Together, they rolled across the floor, away from Meredith. Andris punched the Hybrid, catching him under his chin. The blow sent waves of pain up his knuckles, and the Hybrid’s teeth clacked together. He spat blood and a single serrated tooth onto the floor.

Andris saw only red. Heard only the grunts and angry curses of the Hybrid. But he felt no pain. He had saved Meredith. It had been close, but he had done it.

Another blow smashed Andris’s nose.

Broken for sure.

Blood wept down his face. He spat out crimson saliva. In his periphery, he saw movement. Multiple shapes. Definitely not just Meredith, then.

The Hybrid screamed in his face.

He yelled at Andris in Russian. Die!

Andris slammed a knee into the Hybrid’s groin, wondering if there was any manhood there to smash. The Hybrid seemed to think so, and he let out an angry yowl. Unfortunately for Andris, the pain only reinvigorated the Hybrid’s assault. He struggled to parry every blow, but his movements were slowing down. He felt like a bear cornered on the ice, hunters surrounding him and moving in for the kill.

The Russian Hybrid laughed as he pummeled Andris to death.

Desperate, Andris reached for his knife and wrapped his fingers around the hilt. He struck, burying it in the roof of the Hybrid’s mouth. Blood poured from the wound, and the Hybrid stopped laughing. His eyes rolled backward, and his arms grew slack.

Breathing hard, Andris pushed the bastard off his chest. He was covered in scratches and gouges fringed with curled flesh. He would need stitches. No doubt about it. No bullet wounds in his chest, however. Just holes in his fatigues where the rounds had slammed against his body armor. The liquid that had pooled under him had a sweet scent, completely unlike the ferrous odor of blood.

It smelled like...grape juice? Now Andris was the one laughing from the sheer absurdity of it all.

The Hybrid was dead. He was alive. And Meredith—

He turned to see how she was doing. She was standing now, and though she was bloody and disheveled, she didn’t seem to be badly injured.

But there was one problem.

She wasn’t alone.

-35-

Dom pictured Andris and Meredith being surrounded. He saw their bodies go down in a storm of bullets and watched the amused light fade from Meredith’s green eyes. So many had died on the Hunters’ self-appointed mission to combat the Oni Agent. He couldn’t let her join their ranks.

When Meredith had called him for help, there was no question about what he would do. The only question was how he would do it.

If Meredith and Andris had been spotted, if soldiers and Hybrids were closing in on them, then the FGL people knew someone was inside the base. He just hoped they didn’t know who or how many; he could use that to his advantage.

He chinned his comm link. “Bravo, Alpha. SITREP?”

His heart raced as he awaited an answer. He repeated the request, but neither Andris nor Meredith responded.

It took every ounce of self-restraint not to scream aloud. He wanted to personally rescue Meredith and stop all the bastards who dared harm her. But he couldn’t let his emotions cloud his judgment. Cold, hard logic told him there wouldn’t be a better time for Reynolds to take him to the operational headquarters of this perverse facility than now.

It was easy to imagine Spitkovsky was here, sitting on his throne and gloating over his near-total victory over what remained of the world. He would see to it that the man would pay for all he had done.

“Miguel, you’re in charge of Alpha now,” Dom commanded. “Do whatever it takes to rescue Bravo and fulfill their mission.”

“You got it, Chief.” Miguel threw up a brief salute.

“We won’t let you down,” Spencer said.

“I want you to take these fine men down there with you, if they’re willing,” Dom said, motioning to the other Hybrids in the cage.

There were a few gruff affirmatives from the Hybrid SEALs, and several Moroccan civilians stepped forward, their bone plates rattling against each other. The others standing in the back looked too far gone to even comprehend the words coming out of Dom’s mouth.

“Reynolds,” Dom began, “make sure we only let out the ones who are capable of following orders.”

“I catch your drift, Captain,” Reynolds rasped. “Men, you heard him.”

The SEALs lined up at the cell’s entrance. Miguel used one of the key cards he’d retrieved to release the lock. The door clicked open.

Reynolds stepped out. Dom wondered for a split second if he’d done the right thing. Maybe Reynolds’s mind was as warped as his body. But the SEAL Hybrid merely stood to the side as the others exited the cell.

A deranged-looking Hybrid lurched forward, drool hanging from his mouth. Reynolds put a hand over the man’s chest. “We’ll be back for you.”

“Lock it back up,” Dom said. With the locks reengaged, he looked at Reynolds. “You’re with me. Everyone else, follow Miguel.”

The responsibility of saving Meredith and Andris was on Miguel’s shoulders, as was reining in these new Hybrid allies. It was a lot to ask, but the man could handle it.

“Now, go,” Dom said. “Bravo’s waiting.”

The others sprinted from the prison chamber and out of the laboratory warehouse. They paid less heed to stealth than before, though they still kept to the shadows. Speed was more important now.

“You know where I want to go,” Dom said to Reynolds. “Is he here?”

A jack-o-lantern grin cut across Reynolds’s face. “Follow me.”

They cut across the shipyard like a pair of ghosts. The guards Dom and Reynolds spotted were almost all focused on the tumult surrounding the warehouse, where Bravo was closing in on Andris and Meredith. Dom tried to stop the dark thoughts flooding his mind from weighing him down. He was already slow enough because of his injured leg. He didn’t need a monumental distraction to hold him back even further.

Christ, a distraction? Is that what you’re calling Meredith now?

The Hybrid man crouched beside Dom and pointed up. He had an AK from one of the guards in his clawlike fingers. Lights glowed from a two-story building. A half-finished skeleton of a tower stood atop the building, as if the place was in the middle of upgrades to its defensive capabilities. The bottom of the building seemed to be a garage. A pair of armored personnel carriers was parked inside. Typhoons, by the look of them—Russia’s mine-resistant ambush protected vehicles, or MRAPs.

Dom didn’t like the fact that the garage was already open. “Looks like someone is getting ready to leave.”

“We won’t let ’em,” Reynolds said. His eyelids quivered, and one of his arms shook. The waves of agony undulated through his flesh again.

“You okay to do this?”

“I was made to do this. They made me this way.”

“Okay,” Dom said. He opened the line with the Huntress. “Chao, how are the data uploads looking? Know who’s running this place?”

“Negative, Captain,” Chao replied over the comm link. “Only scientific data so far. Much of it is encrypted. Samantha’s working on it, but it seems like the computers you nabbed were only on local area networks. No connections to the rest of the base.”

Dom cursed. “Reynolds, know what we’re looking at?”

“They usually had a dozen guards patrolling the place. Soldiers, probably Hybrids now too. We didn’t have much time to—” He paused, his face drawing up into a scowl. Then he let out a sigh. “We didn’t have much time to provide solid intel, but I can tell you those Typhoons were constantly shuttling people to the helipad.”

“Any chance you saw a big, bald Russian dude with a scarred face?”

“I did,” Reynolds said.

“You know if he’s still here?”

“No idea. Sorry.”

Dom surveyed the second level of the building with his scope. A stainless-steel grated balcony surrounded it. Guards with fixed machine guns stood at each corner, and two soldiers with AKs leaned against the railing between each of the MGs.

“Tell me you have a way to get in there.”

“They guard that place to keep out humans and normal Skulls.” Reynolds handed Dom his rifle. “But they didn’t think about Hybrids.”

Dom shot him a perplexed look. Reynolds pointed at a nearby crane. An open claw dangled at the end of it. At first Dom thought the SEAL meant to use the crane to tear the roof off the place. Then it dawned on him.

“You need fire support?” Dom asked.

“Only if it looks like I’m losing,” Reynolds said, half standing, his back hunched. The spikes along his spine bristled. “Otherwise, I’ll get us in as quietly and quickly as possible. Be ready to get up there as soon as it’s clear.”

“Will do.”

Reynolds flowed into the shadows like the night itself. He sprinted at supernatural speed, looking every bit like a Skull moving in for the kill. But unlike the suicidal way most Skulls charged, Reynolds stuck to cover and didn’t make a beeline right for the soldiers. Instead he scaled the crane like a spider. He slid down the cable attached to the claw and then crouched on top of it.

Arms outstretched, Reynolds leapt off the claw. He soared silently a good twenty feet then hit the roof. A fall like that would at least break a normal human’s ankles, but Reynolds merely rolled and recovered in one graceful maneuver. Two of the nearby guards had heard the click-clack of Reynolds’s claws against the roof. They turned. In their momentary confusion, Reynolds swept down on them like a bird of prey. His claws found their necks, and each soldier fell back, clutching at mortal wounds. Reynolds barreled at the nearest machine gun nest and downed another guard before the man even turned.

The noise of his body dropping against the steel beneath him caused another two guards to turn. Reynolds charged. They looked as if they barely had time for their shock to register before they went down in a flurry of slicing claws. Reynolds continued to circle the balcony, dispatching guards one at a time. Dom kept track of him from the shadows, his finger hovering near his trigger guard. He had held off on fire support lest a stray bullet attract attention from whoever was inside the building. But now the guards had caught on. One spun from his machine gun, hoisting a rifle. Two more aimed at Reynolds.

Dom let loose. Rounds plunged into the first man’s side then the leg of the second. Reynolds bounded over their falling bodies. He leapt at the man with the machine gun. The soldier never had a chance to fire. Reynolds sank his teeth into the man’s neck and pulled away strings of flesh.

He truly was half-man, half-Skull. Dom couldn’t tell which half was driving Reynolds’s bloody rampage now. He prayed the man was still lucid enough to know Dom was on his side. Dashing to the building, Dom lunged up the stairs to the balcony. He had his rifle shouldered as he crept toward Reynolds. He didn’t aim at the SEAL, but he didn’t let the muzzle stray too far, either.

“Reynolds,” he whispered.

The SEAL spun. Red flared in his eyes, and Dom lifted the rifle slightly. Blood dripped from Reynolds’s mouth, staining his chest. His nose scrunched in a snarl, and the vessels lacing his ropey muscles bulged from between bony plates.

“Captain Holland,” he said menacingly. The SEAL’s overgrown ribcage expanded as he caught his breath. “Captain Holland.”

Dom wondered if the man had to repeat his name to remind himself whose side they were each on.

“Remember what we came here for,” Dom said, approaching Reynolds with caution.

Reynolds nodded, picking at the flesh caught between his teeth.

Drawing close to the Hybrid, Dom ran into a wall of hot air and the coppery scent of blood wafting off his body and those of the dead at his feet.

Dom placed a hand on the door nearest them. “Ready?”

Reynolds managed a nod. Listening for a moment, Dom waited to hear the frantic call of voices from inside or any acknowledgement that the action out here had been noticed. He heard nothing. The lights were still on, illuminating a hallway. At the center stood another door with a reinforced glass window. Through it, Dom could see people milling about, hunched over computers and radio equipment. He saw one huge shape lurking off to the side in a familiar dark uniform and black beret. He’d seen that figure before the Congo. It had to be Spitkovsky. Eyes narrowed, he strained to confirm his hunch, but he couldn’t tell from this distance.

Time to ask the bastard himself.

With a twist of his wrist, Dom jerked the interior door open. Reynolds spilled through first, followed by Dom. They made for the center door.

That was when the bullets started to fly.

-36-

Meredith stood still, her hands in the air and her rifle at her feet. She locked eyes with Andris as he slowly rose, leaving his own weapon by the dead Hybrid. The Hunter never let his gaze stray from Meredith’s. She could see the frustration in his eyes, the defeat.

They were caught.

She heard Dom ask for a SITREP over the comm link, but when she opened her mouth to answer, the cold steel of a gun barrel pressed harder against her temple.

Blood and sweat coursed over her forehead. The mixture dripped in her eyes. She blinked, trying to clear it. Her body felt ragged. She was exhausted, and the adrenaline was tapering off.

The man standing in front of her was a Hybrid. His skin was blistered with bony outgrowths, and his claws clicked as he paced. There was cold intelligence emanating from his blue eyes.

“You are a feisty couple of shits.” His English was only slightly marred by a Russian accent. “You don’t give up easily, huh?”

The Hybrid motioned for the others to bring Andris over. They dragged him across the floor. He tried to stand next to Meredith, but one of the soldiers slammed him down. Andris struggled to his knees. Bruises were already forming along his cheeks.

“Where are the rest of your friends?” the Hybrid asked.

“We came alone,” Meredith said.

“The last Americans to come through here said the same thing. Let’s cut through the bullshit.” The Hybrid let his rifle hang off his shoulder by its strap and pulled out his pistol instead. “Where are your friends?”

Andris spat at the man. Bloody saliva smacked against his cheek.

“That’s not the answer I was looking for.” The Hybrid whipped his pistol across Andris’s jaw. “Where are the others?”

“I don’t know,” Meredith said, stalling for time. The Hybrid pulled the gun away from Andris’s head and kicked him hard in the chest.

“Then you admit you have friends,” the Hybrid said. He pointed the gun at Andris’s head as the Hunter gasped for breath. “You can make this much easier for yourselves.”

“I never do anything the easy way,” Meredith said.

The Russian Hybrid clicked his fangs together. “I know a hundred ways to pry an answer from a man.” The claws of his free hand sliced through the air. “I used to have to carry a kit with me to get someone to talk. But now I have everything I need. Would you like me to demonstrate?”

Meredith clenched her jaw, refusing to show fear.

The Hybrid paced toward her and traced a claw over the side of her head. “A shame about the ear. You might have been a pretty one once, eh?” Then he turned and bent low next to Andris. “Would you like to match your friend here?”

“Fuck you,” Andris said.

“I don’t think so.” The Hybrid stabbed downward, pulling at Andris’s skin like a hook catching in a fish’s mouth.

Andris’s mouth snapped shut. Pain flashed over his face, and he clenched his eyes shut. The Hybrid continued tearing, centimeter by agonizing centimeter. Andris’s fingers curled and went white.

“Christ, stop it!” Meredith yelled. She’d endured training to withstand torture herself. But watching someone else go through it was an entirely different matter.

“You will talk?” the Hybrid asked, letting Andris go immediately.

Andris slapped a hand to the side of his head, holding the flap of skin closed. His eyes glistened, and his nostrils flared. “Don’t, Meredith. Not a word. Let him do his worst to me. I do not care.”

“But I do,” Meredith said. Good God, where is Dom? Where’s Alpha?

The Hybrid swiveled and slashed at Andris. Red claw marks appeared on his cheek. “I’m tired of your talk. The next one is through your vocal cords.”

Meredith couldn’t stand it. They’d saved each other’s asses so many times. She’d started to think of Andris as her partner in the field, and she wasn’t about to let him die here.

Dom had to have a plan. She just needed time to let him do whatever it was. That was it. Stall. Talk to this guy, keep herself and Andris alive another second. Then another second after that. Keep scraping and clawing for time until Alpha showed up with guns blazing and saved the day.

“Where?” the Hybrid asked simply.

“I don’t know,” Meredith said. “We split up.”

“You know where they were going.” The Hybrid snarled. “No games.”

She racked her brain. Surely Dom was out of the labs by now, right? “They went for the research labs.”

“The labs?” the Hybrid asked, sounding skeptical.

The Hybrid spoke to another soldier in Russian. The soldier said something into his radio and waited a few seconds. He repeated the request.

One of the Hybrid’s eyebrows lifted. “It seems no one at the lab is answering. Maybe you’re telling the truth.”

“Of course I am.” In her head, she thought, Come on, Dom. Come on.

Somewhere beyond the ring of soldiers, she heard the click of something hard against concrete. The Hybrid heard it too. His eyes left her, sweeping the darkness. A few of the soldiers turned a beat later.

They started to creep toward the sound. But before they made it halfway around the first set of crates and pallets, a swarm of Hybrids surged over them, claws slashing and teeth bared.

Meredith took advantage of the momentary confusion. She threw herself into the Hybrid that had been interrogating them. With one hand, she freed her blade from its sheath and shoved it deep underneath the Hybrid’s ribcage. She twisted the blade around, and he let out a howl of pain. Battered as he was, Andris took down another soldier, and the rush of incoming Hybrids overwhelmed the others.

Then Meredith saw Miguel, Jenna, Glenn, and Spencer join in the fray. Their shots were measured and precise, taking down any soldiers the Hybrids had missed.

She held down the Russian Hybrid. His eyes bulged, and blood dripped from his mouth.

She grinned at him. “Guess what. My friends are here.”

***

From the top of the lighthouse, Shepherd spotted the Goliath. Rather, he spotted the trees the Goliath was pushing over as it trampled through the forest. It left a wake of destruction. Normal-sized Skulls ran with it. Some were crushed under its elephantine feet, but the others didn’t seem to take notice. They were all too riled up at the prospect of fresh prey.

“Holy shit,” Navid said, setting Terrence down next to Matsumoto. He and Divya were at the railing beside Shepherd now. “You got an extra gun?”

Shepherd handed Navid his sidearm. Not that he expected it would do much good. One of the Portuguese soldiers followed suit and deposited his pistol in Divya’s hands. She chambered a round with surprising deftness.

“Pistols won’t do shit against that thing,” Shepherd warned, pointing to the Goliath. “Best you can do is hold off the smaller Skulls while we try to take him down.”

The hatch to the top floor of the lighthouse had been shut and a bar placed in the door to keep it locked. Skulls pounded at it from the other side, their claws scraping against the metal. A couple of Costas’s people watched it, their weapons trained on the hatch.

Other soldiers were already picking off the first of the Skull reinforcements. Corpses filled the street, their bodies draped over dried-out bushes and husks of cars below. One of the injured men whimpered in a corner; whether it was out of pain or abject horror, Shepherd couldn’t tell. A woman tried to comfort him, but she stopped when a Skull wearing the remnants of a trench coat charged toward the lighthouse. Her rifle chattered. Bullets sparked. Several found their home inside the Skull’s flesh. It fell forward and was trampled by two more of its brethren.

“Costas,” Shepherd growled, “get me someone on that goddamned radio.”

Maybe at the top of the lighthouse, the signal could travel farther. Someone might pick it up. Even if it wasn’t the military, they might have a chance. A civilian could be out there listening, able to relay to the nearest operational base.

And maybe Shepherd was being foolish.

“Please, is anyone there?” Costas pleaded with the radio. “Anyone at all. We are a Portuguese military unit providing escort for Colonel Jack Shepherd. We have highly vital intel that must be passed along to General Kinsey.”

Static. Then, “...Aberdeen...”

Shepherd’s heart leapt. Could it be?

The Goliath reared its head above the trees for a moment and let out a roar. A smaller Skull was clutched within its claws, squawking and flailing its limbs. The Goliath tossed it like a javelin. The beast fell far short of the lighthouse and broke against the trees at the edge of the forest.

With a grunt, the Goliath continued its brute-force push through the forest.

Costas repeated their hail, adjusting the antenna. Suddenly, a voice rang out as clearly as if the radio operator had been standing right beside them.

“Unidentified Portuguese military unit, this is Aberdeen Proving Ground. We received your request for aid. Please advise on your location.”

Shepherd grinned. Aberdeen Proving Ground was the home of military innovation and development. And if he recalled correctly, there was a small airport right next to the base.

He scooped the radio from Costas. “Colonel Shepherd here, former acting commander of Fort Detrick’s army garrison. We’re at a lighthouse overlooking...well, we’re not quite sure where, exactly. We survived a plane crash. I can see water, presumably the Chesapeake, to our west, forest to our east. Town is northwest. The lighthouse is maybe forty feet tall, white blocks.”

The Goliath roared, and another Skull came flying toward the lighthouse. It landed at the foot of the tower, splitting open like a rotten fruit.

Shit, that was close.

“Roger,” the comm specialist said. “We have your location. Aid is en route.”

“Shepherd!” Navid yelled. The young scientist tackled him, and he dropped the radio. A screaming Skull smashed into the platform where he had been half a second before. It exploded through the glass housing surrounding the lighthouse’s lamp. Shards sprayed the soldiers, tearing into fatigues and flesh. The Skull flailed, limbs broken and neck crooked.

Navid fired the pistol Shepherd had given him. His shots were poorly aimed, but he was close enough that most of them counted. The Skull went still as the slide on Navid’s pistol locked back.

“You okay?” Navid asked, turning to Shepherd.

Shepherd remembered Dom’s story about how they’d rescued this sniveling young graduate student, a wreck of a young man. Shepherd wouldn’t have believed he was the same person. Navid offered him an outstretched hand, and Shepherd took it.

As he picked himself up and brushed off shards of glass from his clothes, he saw that the radio was now little more than shattered plastic and broken electronics. The Goliath picked up another Skull and sent it careening like a skeletal missile toward the lighthouse.

Shepherd prayed help was coming soon, that Aberdeen wasn’t too far away. He handed another magazine to Navid. The scientist fumbled with it before Shepherd showed him how to load the weapon.

“Try not to use the whole clip next time,” Shepherd said gruffly. “And...thanks.”

“No problem,” Navid said, steely eyed. The young man, more at home with a pipette than a pistol, marched to the edge of the platform and brought down another Skull trying to scale the lighthouse.

-37-

Andris strode out of the warehouse. The cool breeze from the bay tugged at the fresh bandages along his cheek. His ribs still ached, and pain coursed up and down his right leg from his ankle to his knee. Every time he tried to run, his joints felt as if they would give out.

He pushed through the agony. His new brothers in war gave him no reason to pity himself for his own injuries. The Hybrids had been starved and experimented upon by the FGL. Their faces were twisted in permanent grimaces, and their joints clicked with each move they made. The only ones that looked at peace were those that had died in battle beside the Hunters, their minds freed from the constant misery and pain of their bodies.

During the fight, one of the Hybrids had confessed to Andris that he wanted to die—but not before he killed as many of Spitkovsky’s goons as possible.

That Hybrid now stood beside him, one of the unlucky few that had survived the fight. He had introduced himself as Petty Officer Brendon O’Neil. Andris tried to imagine what the man had once looked like, behind the overgrown bones and disfiguration wrought by the Oni Agent experimentation.

“Did you come to rescue us?” O’Neil asked. “You’re a little late.”

Andris remembered what it had been like to be abandoned himself, left to die in a Syrian mine by the French Foreign Legion when a covert operation went bad. They had assumed he was dead. But that hadn’t made waking up alone, bleeding out, any better. Kinsey had seemed convinced that none of the Americans were still alive. But maybe, if he had tried harder to find the SEALs he’d sent here, O’Neil and his men might have been spared the horrors of the FGL labs.

“Yes,” Andris said, marshaling his anger at Kinsey. “We were sent to save you and finish the mission.”

“Should’ve saved your own asses instead,” O’Neil said. “We might as well be dead.”

“But we are all here now,” Andris said. “And we have a common goal, yes? Now we must stop those freighters.”

“Did you have a plan?” O’Neil asked.

“Explosives,” Andris said. “I rigged them up to take out the propellers.”

“I see,” O’Neil said. He studied their ragtag band of Hybrid and human forces. “It would be suicide for you to try planting something on those ships now. The bastards have forces all over the port aimed our direction.”

“We could swim for it,” Spencer said.

“That’s a long way to swim,” Jenna said.

“And if we were spotted...well, you know how the old saying about fish and barrels goes,” Glenn said.

“Either we kill every last one of the bastards in our way,” Miguel said, “or else somehow convince them all to leave the docks.”

O’Neil’s lips cracked into what Andris thought might be a wicked grin. “You know why they did this to us, right?” He placed a hand on his chest.

“Super soldiers,” Andris said.

“More than that,” O’Neil said.

“The Titans,” Meredith answered. She turned to O’Neil. “Do you have the same abilities the, uh, more advanced Hybrids have?”

“You mean the actual Russian Hybrids? The ones with the final Hybrid concoction?”

Meredith nodded.

“The batch they tried on us”—he waved a hand to indicate the SEALs and Moroccans around them—“it was the beta test before the final version.” His eyes narrowed. “So to answer the question I know you want to ask: yes, we have some influence over Skulls.”

“How?” Andris asked. “How is any of this possible?”

“Pheromones, I think,” O’Neil said. He tapped his skull. Horns protruded beneath the ragged remnants of his hair. “They implanted some shit in our brain. If we think the right thoughts, it does something. I can practically smell it. I’m no scientist, so I can’t explain it better than that, but we can make angry Skulls...less angry. We can get them to follow us or rile them up. You know how the Skulls tend to swarm?”

Meredith and Andris nodded. Yes, they were well aware of that.

“I don’t think it’s just them being attracted to sound and prey. Their energy feeds off each other. Like a crowd at a football game. Get one guy hyped up, and the people around him can’t help but cheer.”

Andris’s stomach lurched. Now it made sense, what he had heard on the radio. How Spitkovsky’s people claimed to be talking to the Skulls. The Hybrids did have some ability to influence the Skulls, just like the Titans.

“Best way to win a battle like this is split up the defensive forces on multiple fronts. Let’s see if we can call some Skull reinforcements.”

“Before you do,” Andris said, “We need to know more. How well can you control them?”

“Not well enough,” O’Neil admitted. “The goal wouldn’t be to let all the Skulls loose in here. Just get them outside the gates. Enough to scare the Russians so they spread their forces thin. Then we can skim the defenses around the ships, and you can plant your bombs. How’s that sound?”

Meredith looked at Andris for a moment. He could tell what she was thinking: You got a better idea?

He didn’t.

Miguel answered before either of them could. “Sounds insanely risky and, well, insanely insane, bro. I like it.” He moved to clap O’Neil on the back then appeared to think better of it. Too many spines and spikes, evidently.

O’Neil looked to Meredith and Andris for approval. More enemy troops were moving their way. A few were already taking potshots at the warehouse. Soon enough, they would be surrounded again. Trapped. They didn’t have numbers on their side, and now the FGL knew what they were up against. Andris feared that it would be slaughter, and he knew which side would be lying dead and bleeding in the warehouse this time.

“I do not think we have another choice,” Andris said.

Meredith nodded. “Do it. We have to.”

“Good.” O’Neil strutted forward and split the Hybrids into four groups. He sent three to various points along the walls and gates of the facility with orders to attract as many Skulls as possible. As they departed, O’Neil remained behind with the fourth group. “Once things start to go mad, we’ll escort you to the ships.”

The Hybrids bristled with the weapons they’d picked up from the dead in the warehouse, but Andris hardly thought it was necessary. The experiments had turned their entire bodies into weapons. He shuddered at the thought.

“Now we wait?” Andris asked.

“Now we wait,” O’Neil said.

“How will we know when they start calling the Skulls?” Jenna asked.

“I can feel it,” O’Neil said. “That pheromone, chemical bullshit...whatever it is. I could feel it each time the Skulls were going crazy outside the base, even when we were stuck in our prison cells. They’re always inside my head, you know?”

The Hunters stared at him, expressions of horror on their faces.

“That’s messed up,” Spencer said.

“I’m so sorry,” Jenna breathed.

O’Neil shrugged his bone-plated shoulders. “What’s done is done. All that’s left is revenge.”

Andris could understand that feeling. He propped up his MK11 and sighted up the nearest enemy target. Exhaling, he rocked the trigger back. The soldier’s face disappeared in a scarlet firework, and his body collapsed behind a crate. Another two soldiers went down. The rest of the soldiers seemed to be waiting for something, lining up just outside Andris’s range.

O’Neil stiffened. His eyes searched the sky, and his nostrils flared.

“Is it starting?” Andris asked.

“No, it’s not that...”

Andris surveyed the enemy soldiers once more. All human. They seemed to be looking at something beyond the Hunters. A pit formed in Andris’s stomach. The hairs on the back of his neck stood, and he swiveled, pointing his rifle skyward, toward the roof of the warehouse. Dark shapes were silhouetted against the purple sky, like gargoyles come to life.

“More Hybrids.” O’Neil tensed. “And these ones aren’t ours.”

***

A cold wind whipped Kara’s hair about her face as she stood on the deck of the Huntress.

“Are you ready for this?” Lauren asked her.

“Of course.”

“You don’t have to if—”

“I can handle it,” Kara said.

“Good,” Lauren said. “Red tags need priority attention. Yellow is moderate. Green will probably live. You see any red tags we missed, let me know.”

“Got it,” Kara said. The blue nitrile gloves clung tightly to her sweaty palms. “Black means they’re probably going to die, right?”

Lauren nodded. “You probably won’t be seeing any black tags, though.”

“Oh,” Kara said. At first, she thought that meant Lauren didn’t expect anyone’s injuries to be that bad. That maybe the disaster at Lajes was overblown and most everyone would be fine. A moment later, it broke over her like a sudden rainstorm. Frank wasn’t going to waste space on his chopper for someone who was already doomed.

A shiver crept down her spine.

Those people would be left behind for any Skulls that hadn’t yet been killed. Her knees almost buckled as she thought of the moans of the dying. How desperate they must be, lying alone on the asphalt or in the grass, only to have their calls for help be answered by a Skull.

“You sure you’re going to be okay?” Lauren asked.

Kara looked around at the engineers and other crew members assembled. It was a ragtag bunch recruited from every part of the ship. These people normally never saw action until it came to them. If her father—their captain—were here, he would not back down. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

The thrum of the helicopter blades grew louder. Green and red lights blinked on the bird. Kara braced herself against the rotor wash, shielding her eyes with her hands. The chopper came down hard, and the doors were flung open immediately.

Crew members rushed forward and formed a receiving line for patients. Those that could get off the chopper on their own did so first; many of them had green bands around their arms. They turned to help the others with red and yellow bands, unloading bodies into awaiting stretchers. Kara moved in to help a Portuguese female airman lift one of her injured compatriots. They loaded the man onto a stretcher. His left leg was shredded below his kneecap. Fragments of bone glistened in wet muscle exposed to the night air. A red band was tied to his arm, and a tourniquet was cinched above the pulpy mess that had been his leg.

Fingers of nausea tightened around Kara’s stomach, but she gulped it down. She had told Lauren she was okay; now she needed to prove it.

“This way!” Kara said, picking up her half of the stretcher. She led the airman into the med bay, and as gently as they could, they transferred the man onto one of the empty beds. His eyes were tightly closed, and a soft groan escaped his lips.

“I’ve got it from here.” Peter mopped his brow with a forearm, clearing the sweat from his eyes. Divya and Sean were gone. It was just Peter and Lauren manning the bay, along with whatever medical personnel they rescued from Lajes. Judging by how quickly the fire had enveloped the isolation ward, Kara wondered just how small that number would be.

She rushed back up the ladders, dodging the stream of patients and helpers headed into the med bay. Flashes of red caught her eye as she jogged past. There were more red bands than she had expected. So many people needed immediate attention. There was no way Lauren and Peter could save them in time. No way. They might as well have black bands.

God, Kara thought. This is madness.

By the time she made her way back up to the deck, the chopper had already left for another load. She prepared the next set of stretchers and replenished the stock of bandages and tourniquets. A few crew members lingered deckside with her. One of the men was vomiting over the gunwale. Kara sympathized. Her stomach still churned. She tried to stand straighter, ignoring her frayed nerves and the dark thoughts flooding through her head. A dull thrumming indicated Frank was headed back.

Once again, the chopper came down, and the doors burst open. Another batch of patients was rolled out. This time, Kara noticed a few people wearing white bands with red crosses around their arms. These were nurses and paramedics from the base. A cool wave of temporary relief washed through her. At least they had more help now.

The relief was short lived. The Huntress’s crew members rushed forth to help the patients off, and Kara surged forward with them. Once again, she helped load a man on a stretcher. She tried to ignore the horrific gashes across his abdomen. Her job was not to stare at his injuries. She needed to get him on the stretcher as quickly as possible. The red band tied on his arm was splattered with the darker hue of blood.

“Kara,” the man croaked. Her eyes flicked to his face in surprise. Beneath the mess of lacerations, she recognized his emerald-green eyes. And even though most of it was matted with blood, a few tufts of carroty orange hair framed his mutilated face.

“Sean?” she called. “Sean!”

She helped one of the newly arrived nurses carry him down the ladders to the med bay.

“I found it,” Sean mumbled. “I found it. Tell Lauren.” He clutched something in his hand. It was a small notebook, torn and covered in blood. “I found it...”

His eyes closed, and his fingers loosened, the notebook falling from his grasp.

-38-

Dom ducked, sliding to a stop as bullets peppered the walls around him and Reynolds. Two guards had burst out of one of the rooms near the facility’s entrance. They appeared to have been more surprised than anything. Their shots showed it, wild and erratic.

With steadier aim, Dom plugged the first guard twice in the chest and once in the head for good measure. The man fell back into the room he’d come from, and his submachine gun clattered to the floor next to him. The second guard disappeared under a fusillade of bullets from Reynolds.

“Looks like all my work out there was for nothing,” Reynolds said. All semblance of a stealthy entrance into the communications room had been shattered. “It was fun while it lasted.”

Voices boomed from inside. The room was filled with radios and computers. Guards overturned tables to act as makeshift barricades. It wouldn’t do any good. Especially not with the armor-piercing rounds loaded in Dom’s SCAR-H. But all the same, the entryway was a deadly chokepoint for Reynolds and Dom.

“How good of a shot are you?” Reynolds asked, his chest heaving. He seemed to be having trouble recovering his breath.

“Good enough,” Dom said. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we get one shot at this. If these bastards get away in those MRAPs, we lose.”

“Agreed,” Dom said. Blind-fire punched through the window and door, bullets plunging into the walls. None of the shots were anywhere close to Dom or Reynolds. But the intent was quite clear.

Boot steps clattered around the platform surrounding the headquarters and echoed down the intersecting halls. They were being surrounded.

“We need to act fast,” Dom said. He tugged an M84 stun grenade from his tac vest. “Got a present for our friends inside.” He pictured Spitkovsky hiding behind the makeshift barricade. I’m coming for you, you ugly bastard. He yanked the pin from the M84 and threw it through the jagged mouth of a broken window and turned away. There was a loud pop that made his ears ring and a white flash of light, followed by tentacles of pale smoke.

Reynolds rammed the door, knocking it off its hinges. The door flattened as he leveled his rifle into the first of the soldiers. A few others tried to shoot back, blinking as they struggled to clear their vision. Two of the men must have been smart enough to shield themselves from the stun grenade. They surged up from behind a table and fired directly at Reynolds.

Shots clattered against his bony armor. Bone chips sprayed from the impacts. Reynolds growled and fired back until his magazine was empty. He threw the rifle down and lunged at the sole remaining soldier, even as bullets chewed into his shoulder. His claws found the soft flesh beneath the man’s chin, and they came out through his mouth. Reynolds lifted him up and then threw him to the ground, stomping on the man’s face with his taloned feet.

Dom had to look away. He rotated his rifle around the room, trying to remind himself Reynolds was on his side, as insane as it seemed. Spitkovsky was gone.

There was an open door at the back of the room. It led to a metal staircase.

“Goddammit!” Dom bellowed. He pictured Spitkovsky running down those stairs and jumping into one of the MRAPs. The growling of an engine below beckoned him, and he sprinted toward the doorway.

Before he reached it, a shape hurtled up the steps and crashed into him. Fresh pain bolted through his wounded leg, and the breath rushed from his lungs. A scarred face and a mouthful of fangs looked down at him. Claws reared back, aimed at his face.

A Hybrid. Another goddamned Hybrid.

Dom struggled under the Hybrid’s grip. It was as if a truck were sitting on his shoulders. The half-human monster was too strong to fight, and the Russian Hybrid knew it. He smiled at Dom.

“Captain Holland, we meet at last. I am Dimitri,” the Hybrid said with heavily accented English, his expression full of sadistic glee. “Boss gave special order to make death slow as possible. Please do enjoy.”

He curled a hooked claw under Dom’s chin. Before he could slice into the vulnerable flesh, Reynolds knocked the Hybrid off Dom. They fell in a tangled mess of claws and bone. Dom pushed himself from the ground. The agony in his leg almost sent him reeling.

The clash between the two Hybrids crushed a table and sent a computer monitor tumbling to the floor in a shower of sparks. Dom tried to aim at Dimitri, but they were moving too fast. He couldn’t take a shot like this. He would just as likely kill Reynolds.

More soldiers appeared at the entrance where Dom and Reynolds had first come in. Dom blasted the first to appear and sent a second sprawling in a pool of his own blood. Others came in more cautiously, finding cover faster than Dom’s bullets found them. Dom couldn’t make a stand here. Not with Reynolds locked in a talon-to-talon death match with Dimitri.

He tried to position himself to help Reynolds, ducking behind another bank of computers and tables. Rounds pierced the wood, tearing holes in the flimsy furniture.

An engine growled to life in the garage. Then a second. Spitkovsky was getting away.

“Go!” Reynolds roared. “Go stop them!”

Dom hesitated. He couldn’t leave Reynolds behind. It would be a death sentence. Then again, Reynolds had known that was what he was getting himself into all along.

“Go!” Reynolds said a third time.

This time, Dom didn’t hesitate. He rushed down the stairs, barely staying upright as his leg wavered painfully. He couldn’t run them down on foot. His best bet was to reach Spitkovsky and his men before they left the garage. He reached the bottom of the staircase. His lungs burned. His leg was even worse. Shouldering his rifle, he fired at the first MRAP as it peeled out.

The damn thing was built to withstand mines. Small-arms fire did nothing to it. A driver was stepping into the second MRAP.

“No, you don’t, asshole!” Dom charged.

The man slid into the driver’s seat, his eyes wide. Dom opened up. Desperation filled him as the man tugged the door closed. Rounds sparked against the sides of the vehicle. One found the man’s leg, tearing into muscle and undoubtedly breaking bone. The driver yelped, his leg reflexively kicking out straight, and the door slammed into his ankle. His other foot found the gas pedal. The man was wild with pain, though, and the truck scraped into the side of the building.

It gave Dom the time he needed. He rushed to catch up and jumped onto the side of the truck, holding the door open. The driver tried to regain control of the vehicle, but Dom kept one hand on the door and used the other to pummel the man. Dom grabbed the man’s collar and threw him out with a mighty heave, slamming the door shut behind him.

He heard a commotion behind him as he swung the MRAP out into the shipyard. A gaggle of soldiers were seated in the back of the vehicle. A couple of them tried to reach through the slot that separated them from the driver’s seat.

Dom fingered an M4 grenade on his tac vest. The MRAP protected soldiers from explosions that happened outside the vehicle, but a grenade inside the passenger hold...

He tossed the grenade and slammed the partition shut. The clang of the rear hatch opening resounded through the metal plating as the men frantically tried to escape. Then the grenade exploded and rocked the MRAP. The little door on the partition broke open, letting smoke drift into the cab. Dom risked a glance into the back. The seats were shredded, and singe marks marred the steel. None of his passengers would be bothering him again.

He turned back to face the windshield as small-arms fire pinged against it. Apparently, a few of the soldiers had escaped before the grenade went off. They didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was the six-wheeled Typhoon ahead of him, accelerating through the shipyard.

Spitkovsky would not get away this time.

***

The Hybrids perched on the roof of the warehouse were firing at the Hunters and their newfound allies. Meredith searched for cover, but with their enemies literally on top of them, there was little space for cover. One of the American Hybrids went down in a bloody mess of cracked bony plates.

Meredith wheeled her rifle toward the Russians and let loose a barrage of fire to beat them back. But they seemed not to care. Even as one of their number tumbled to the ground, the others didn’t back away.

They were desperate to finish this battle.

Well, so was she.

Hideous cries, nearly as frightening as the Skulls, exploded from the Russian Hybrids. An answering battle call burst from the soldiers that had been gathering around the docks. They rushed forth as if they were part of some crazed World War I bayonet charge. Maybe they were spurred on by bloodlust, not so different from the Skulls themselves.

“What’s going on?” Meredith asked O’Neil as she crouched next to Andris and Glenn. Miguel took careful shots at the Hybrids, and Jenna fired into the soldiers rushing toward them like a tidal wave. Spencer tossed a grenade that took out several of them, but it didn’t halt their overall advance.

O’Neil suddenly went still. “It’s happening. They’re trying to call the Skulls.”

“Are you sure?” Jenna asked. “These people don’t seem to notice.”

“I’m positive,” O’Neil said. His eyes grew redder. The vessels pressing against his nearly translucent skin dilated. “I can feel it.”

He looked like an animal about to go rabid.

The other Hybrids on their side seemed to be similarly affected. They shrieked every bit as loudly as a normal Skull. One of them rocketed out of cover and barreled at the advancing soldiers. Bullets bit into his bones and flesh, chiseling away at his body and pushing him back, but not before his claws sank into one of the men. He died with his fingers embedded in the chest of an FGL soldier.

“Hold the line!” O’Neil bellowed to his fellow Hybrids. “Hold the line!”

His voice was laced with a mixture of anger and power. Meredith almost stepped back from him when she heard it. The pheromones or whatever it was that riled the Skulls seemed to be imbuing O’Neil with a monstrous ferocity. Despite his orders, a few more of the Hybrids broke from their ranks. One of the SEALs started scaling the warehouse, scrambling toward the Russian Hybrids above. He was picked off by gunfire, but another scuttled past him as he fell. The Hybrid clashed into two of the Russians, bringing all three of them back to earth. Their bodies smacked against the concrete with sickening thumps.

They were quickly losing control of this battle—and any chance for survival.

Meredith felt a rush of hot air by her head. Rounds impaled a nearby crate an instant later. She returned fire, bringing down one of the Hybrids. The arrogant bastards didn’t even bother trying to find cover. They just stood there as if they knew the battle was already over. They had already won.

A grenade exploded nearby. One of the Moroccan Hybrids disappeared in a cloud of bone and flesh.

Meredith scrambled to come up with some way out of this mess. Maybe they could make a run for it. With enough cover fire, they might make it through the advancing line of Russians. But the cold reality was that the retreat would likely get a couple of the Hunters killed. The unforgiving, logical voice in her head told her it was better to endure one or two deaths than to leave them all trapped in this tightening noose.

Then she heard it. The chorus of the dead. Moans and howls, shrieks and wails. The clattering of claws and talons against metal and concrete. The drone of a Skull horde. Normally the sound signaled terror, promising all who stood in the horde’s way a violent and gory death.

But now, it almost made Meredith giddy. Goddammit, O’Neil’s plan had worked.

The Hybrids atop the warehouse had noticed. Confusion riddled their ranks, and a few darted away, running to presumably address the growing threat of a Skull horde. The charge of Russians over the shipyards seemed to slow to a trickle. They didn’t stop firing on the Hunters or allied Hybrids, but at least they hunkered down. It wasn’t long before a couple squads of those soldiers left, too.

“It’s working,” O’Neil said. His nostrils expanded and contracted with each ragged breath. Flames of rage seemed to burn behind his bloodshot eyes. “It’s working.”

-39-

Andris listened to the rise of the Skull voices. It reminded him of the haunting wail of the air raid sirens over Riga. When he was a child, the noise had made him cower. Even when his parents had told him it was just a test, he had expected bombs to drop on his house.

But now he reveled in the siren-like calls of the Skulls. Yes, it meant that the danger was very real. That things were about to go to hell. But hell was about the only thing that could save the Hunters now. The Russians were falling back, both the Hybrids and the humans.

“We must get to the ships now,” Andris said.

There was no better opportunity than when fear stabbed its icy blade through the hearts of their enemies. Right when confusion was at its highest. Right before the tide of Skulls swept over the gates and walls and into the base.

He knew that wasn’t the plan. O’Neil’s goal had been only to attract the Skulls to the base. But he had also spent long enough in the field to know that Skulls were nothing if not unpredictable.

“Andris is right,” Meredith said. “If we’re going to do this, we’ve got to go now.” She reached into her pack and handed out the improvised explosives. “Jenna and Glenn, take the closest ship. Miguel, Spencer, next one after that. Andris and I will take the last.”

“Put the explosives somewhere near the props,” Andris said. “I will set them off when you give me the go-ahead.”

“Roger, roger,” Miguel said, giving him a mock salute. “Let’s make some fireworks.”

“O’Neil,” Andris said, “we are ready to move when you are. We need to make a hole through the Russians.” He pointed at the ranks of soldiers blocking their path to the freighters. “Right there.”

“Consider it done.” O’Neil turned to the remnants of his hybrid troops. “You heard the man. Let’s tear these assholes to pieces!”

Before he finished the words, the Hybrids emerged from their cover. They moved like spirits seeking retribution, hurdling the crates and cargo, toward the Russian soldiers. At first, the soldiers remained steadfast in their defense. They managed to take down two of the Hybrids. But the Hybrids pushed against the wall of lead pouring into them, enduring shot after shot, never faltering. They reached the line of Russian defenders, and then they ripped into their targets.

The sight of Hybrids shredding their comrades was enough to rout the remaining soldiers. They retreated, several of them dropping their weapons as they fled. O’Neil had parted the Russians like some kind of demonic Moses.

“Go, go, go!” Andris bellowed. The Hunters ran beside him, charging through the wreckage the Hybrids had left behind. They leapt over corpses and pools of blood. A few bullets ran past them as the Hybrids atop the roof began to give chase.

A few of the SEAL Hybrids picked up rifles lost by the now-dead Russians and provided salvo after salvo of covering fire. Andris’s heart thumped against his ribs as though it were about to jump from his chest and sprint ahead without him. The roars of the Skulls had grown louder. The clatter of their claws sounded like hail. Judging by the distant screams and chatter of automatic fire, the Hunters knew the Skulls were now inside the base.

As the Hunters made it through the carnage, the Hybrids fell in line beside them, acting as a fearsome escort. It didn’t take long before they reached the first freighter. Without any hesitation, Glenn and Jenna dove into the murky water, swimming toward the stern of the docked ship. At O’Neil’s direction, several Hybrids stayed behind to deal with any Russians that tried stopping them. Next, Miguel and Spencer split off.

“You ready for this?” Meredith asked Andris as they closed in on the final ship.

“I have been waiting all night. I hope Dom will not be jealous that I take you to such nice places.”

Meredith grinned wolfishly, cinched her rifle’s strap to keep it tight against her back, and then dove into the water. Her body disappeared beneath the mirrored surface with only a slight splash.

Andris followed an instant later. He struggled to swim with the bulk of his gear weighing him down. There was a small voice at the back of his head, growing ever louder, telling him he might die. That he wasn’t fit for this.

Meredith was already bobbing at the stern of the freighter, waiting for him to catch up. The massive ship towered over them. There seemed to be some kind of commotion on the deck. It sounded as if the crew was running wild, voices yelling commands. There was a crash as though a stack of the crates had fallen.

Andris paid it no heed. “Ready?”

Meredith nodded, lifting her improvised explosive in the air.

“Let us do it.”

They dove under. Andris could barely see his hand in front of him in the murky water. Meredith disappeared in the curtain of silt. Andris heard the click and buzz of underwater animals somewhere beneath them, along with the amplified groan of the freighter as he worked his way down the ship. His lungs began to burn, yearning for another breath of air. He ignored the impulse to shoot to the surface as his hands met the edge of one of the huge propellers. He followed the blade toward the center and used a cord on the improvised explosive to secure it to the central shaft. He tugged it once to check the knot.

His body was screaming for air now. A tingling sensation crept through his hands, and the water felt suddenly colder. He powered back to the surface and exploded above the water, treading water and gasping for breath. Meredith soon reappeared beside him.

“It’s done,” she said. “We actually did it.”

They swam toward the pier and climbed one of the ladders set into the concrete. Cool night air swirled around Andris’s body, forcing him into convulsive shivers. Water sluiced off his fatigues as they ran back to rejoin the rest of the group. The Hybrids were working hard to hold the Russians back. Jenna and Glenn were already behind cover, helping to defend the pier. Miguel and Spencer came out of the water last.

Andris hoped he had created his devices well. No one appreciated how difficult it was, mixing the right amount of fuel and fertilizer in the field while doing the calculations in his head. Each explosive contained a pair of detonators and separate chambers. Fail-safes, Andris hoped, in case one was bad. And they had planted two explosive devices on each ship. It had to be enough.

Miguel jerked his thumb at the freighters. “Let’s blow ’em and get out of here. Kinsey and the Portuguese Air Force will have plenty of time to clean up the mess we leave behind.”

“I hope so,” Andris said.

“What’s going on up there?” Jenna asked, pointing to the deck of the nearest freighter. The roar of the Skulls all around the base made it difficult to hear her. Gunfire rattled as the Russians struggled to control the influx of Skulls.

But what Andris saw atop the freighter frightened him more than the threat of those Skulls. One of the shipping containers had broken open. The sailors on the ship were screaming now, trying to get away from whatever had been inside.

Skulls. More goddamned Skulls.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Miguel said. “They filled shipping containers with Skulls? What in God’s name were they thinking?”

Glenn marveled at the sight. “‘The onrush of a conquering force is like the bursting of pent-up waters into a chasm a thousand fathoms deep,’” he quoted.

“Sun Tzu?” Jenna asked.

Glenn nodded. “Maybe FGL is still going to deliver a batch of airborne Oni Agent somewhere. But that wasn’t all they had planned. These are their armies now. The Hybrids can lead these Skulls into battle. Imagine sending a force like this into the United States. Just these three freighters full of Skulls in a consolidated sweep could clean up the remnants of our military. It would be like an unstoppable tide. And instead of losing numbers after a battle, everywhere they went, they would recruit more foot soldiers through the Hybrids.”

“Damn, bro,” Spencer said. “That is fucked up.”

“The Skulls aren’t exactly well-trained, and the Hybrids barely seem to be able to control them,” Meredith said. “Sun Tzu also said, ‘Victory usually goes to the army who has better-trained officers and men.’”

“Keyword is ‘usually,’” Andris said. “A thousand Skulls could still stomp a platoon of Legionnaires. I regret to say even well-trained Hunters might not withstand such a force.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Jenna asked.

Andris nodded. “Come. We must put distance between ourselves and the ships!”

O’Neil rallied the rest of the Hybrids. The Hunters forced their way toward the pipe where Andris hoped Jalil and Hamid were still hidden and safe. The Russians had been thoroughly routed. The majority of the forces were still embroiled with the first swarm of Skulls that had fought past the barbed wire and machine-gun nests. A Goliath smashed the hood of an MRAP, and a pair of Droolers doused the crowd with burning acid, indiscriminately spewing the toxic liquid over Skull and soldier alike.

The Hunters and Hybrids focused on defense. Their goal was to put distance between themselves and the ships, not to take down Russians. A Goliath bellowed on one of the freighters and began a mad ascent to the bridge, punching through glass and pulling out sailors as it did.

“They packed goddamned Goliaths?” Miguel yelled. “Dios mio, man. These people are insane.”

“Please tell me we can disable those ships now,” Jenna said.

Andris tightened his grip on the remote. “Here we go.” He depressed the button.

There was a brief delay during which Andris feared everything had failed.

Then it happened. The explosives he and Meredith had planted went off first. Water burst out in a geyser from the stern of the ship. The protest of tearing metal echoed over the shipyard. The second explosion went off with similar pomp and circumstance. The ship lurched violently to the side. Shipping containers and Skulls plunged into the water. Sailors leapt from the superstructure as the ship crashed into its neighbor. Two ships down. Both began to sink, condemning their cargo of Skulls to a watery death.

But Andris was shaking his head. “No, no, no.”

The nearest freighter was undamaged.

He depressed the remote detonator again and again.

Nothing. Had the explosives not been watertight? Were the detonators not working properly? Had he messed up the ratio of fuel to ammonium nitrate? A thousand possibilities rushed through his head.

Whatever the reason, the ship was still floating. Escaped Skulls wreaked havoc on its deck. A Goliath leapt from the side, clearing the harbor and landing on the pier. Its huge feet slammed against concrete, leaving elephantine footprints.

Most of the shipping containers still remained in their stacks, every one filled with Skulls waiting to be released. The macabre army might be down two-thirds in strength, but if that freighter still managed to get out of the harbor and land where Spitkovsky had planned his demonic D-Day...

Andris was unable to fathom the resulting destruction. He would be responsible for every one of those deaths. This was worse than failing to save Terrence or when he thought he had left Meredith to die.

That ship had to be stopped. No matter the cost.

-40-

Dom leaned forward in the MRAP’s chair. He felt as if he were in a Mad Max movie as he plowed through crates and smaller vehicles. And as the others had warned him, the Skulls were now filtering into the base. One appeared in his bouncing lights. The ragged remains of long robes fluttered from its spikes. It turned to Dom and hunched down as if it was going to charge the MRAP.

The beast did not disappoint.

It ran headlong into the most suicidal jousting match Dom had ever seen. The Skull burst over the hood of the vehicle. Flesh and blood spattered, smearing across the windshield.

“Thanks a lot, asshole.”

Dom slammed his boots onto the pedal. The other MRAP banked around a corner. One wheel cut dangerously close to the edge of the pier, kicking gravel into the water.

“Bravo,” Dom called over the comm link. “I’m in pursuit of a vehicle. I think the people in charge of the base are in it.”

“Is it headed our way?” Meredith asked.

“Negative,” Dom said. “Opposite direction.”

Meredith cursed. “We can’t help out right now. One, we don’t have wheels. And two, we’ve got problems of our own.”

The MRAP plowed into another trio of Skulls. They flew like ragdolls over the top of the vehicle. Another was crushed under the heavy tires, crunching noisily even amid the growl of the MRAP’s engine. Dom had to catch those bastards. If they lost him on the way out of Tangier, they were as good as free.

As he took a turn too wide, the MRAP scraped against the side of a building. It tore away a metal pipe and gutted a row of cinder blocks. Then a Drooler stumbled in front of his path. When the vehicle hit the beast, it popped like a balloon, brown acid dripping everywhere.

Again, Dom found himself thankful for the sturdy construction of the vehicle. The only problem was that the MRAP he was chasing was built just as well. Trying to stop it would be difficult.

He accelerated down a straightway and then wound between a few concrete planters and dead trees. The rear door on the enemy MRAP opened. Dom thought at first they were about to jump out and disappear into the neighboring building.

Probably the only thing worse than chasing the vehicle by himself would be to engage in a foot chase. His leg still burned, and blood from his reopened wound soaked his pants. He’d have a hell of a time catching one person, let alone a whole squad of the bastards. And if Spitkovsky chose to fight him or run, Dom was pretty sure he’d be zero for two against the Russian.

But the enemy MRAP wasn’t slowing down to disgorge its passengers. It kept rocketing toward its destination. Instead of soldiers bailing out the rear, a few merely crouched at the edge with weapons readied.

Bullets slammed against Dom’s MRAP. They pinged and ricocheted off the hood and smacked against the windshield. Dom swerved instinctively, wheels squealing, then straightened the MRAP out again. A few pockmarks formed in the glass, but small-arms fire wasn’t going to bring him down.

What in the hell were they doing? They should know they couldn’t stop him. After all, this was their vehicle.

Dom began to close the distance to them. Still they fired as if they could eventually chisel away the windshield. The best they had to show for their efforts were a few gouges in the reinforced glass that looked as if the windshield had been chipped by rocks kicked up on the highway.

They fired in bursts, aiming directly at him. He fought the instinct to duck. He couldn’t afford to look away now, not when he was so close. He could see their faces now, expressionless as masks. They didn’t seem particularly worried about him.

And that was when the realization sank into Dom. It was as if he had just stepped over the edge of a cliff. Of course they knew they weren’t going to stop him with rifle fire. That wasn’t their intent. They were just distracting him, building his confidence and drawing him in close.

A soldier appeared from the shadow of the enemy MRAP’s cabin. He had a long metal cylinder over his shoulder—an RPG-29, if Dom had to guess. A weapon that could burst through some of the strongest tank armor out there. It was also well suited for fending off an errant Goliath, Dom imagined, or an MRAP hijacked by your enemy.

The RPG fired. Smoke and fire curled from the weapon.

Dom yanked hard on the wheel and slammed on the brakes. The MRAP slid sideways, the front of the vehicle crashing into an empty storefront, tearing away glass and brick. The rocket bolted past, missing him by mere inches. It slammed into a warehouse and exploded. A cloud of smoke and tongues of flame leapt out of the shredded wall.

Turning the wheel hard, Dom brought the MRAP back onto the road and resumed his chase. The soldier with the RPG appeared to be reloading the weapon. Dom gritted his teeth.

Take your best shot. You are not getting away.

He waited for the RPG to straighten on the man’s shoulder again. The rest of the world fizzled away. He barely noticed the Skulls that fell under the MRAP’s huge tires or the bullets flicking against the windshield. The smell of smoke and burned plastic, still drifting from the rear of the vehicle, evaporated. All that mattered now was the soldier with the RPG.

Every nerve in Dom’s body tingled. He had to make the right move. Had to do it at exactly the right moment. It was either that, or give up and let Spitkovsky and his men go free. Dom wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t. Not when he was so close.

He waited for the man to straighten the RPG. Saw the look in the soldier’s eyes as he picked a perfect bead on Dom. There was a small flash of orange and red, a puff of gray. The rocket came at Dom like a cobra. He twisted the wheel, doing his best to avoid the rocket at the last second.

The rocket missed.

For an old man with a screwed-up leg, he was doing pretty damn well. These bastards couldn’t stop him.

Of course, he still had to stop them.

The MRAP drifted around another corner. Ahead was yet another obstacle to overcome.

“Oh Christ,” Dom muttered.

Skulls filled the road. Hordes of them poured over a wall, tripping one another as they churned along, filtering through the base like a flood. The enemy MRAP punched through their masses. It left a trail of broken bodies in its wake. Some still clawed at the air, their legs smashed like an insect’s. Dom closed in, using the clear field to his advantage. Each Skull slamming into the front of the enemy’s MRAP slowed their speed enough to give Dom a chance to catch up.

As the soldier with the RPG loaded a third round, Dom looked ahead and saw there was an end to the sea of Skulls. That would give the other MRAP an opportunity to reestablish its lead. He had to make a move now. His MRAP bounced as it crushed the remains of injured and dead Skulls under its tires. Dom finally reached the enemy and rammed them. The driver hadn’t been prepared, and the MRAP fishtailed. One of the soldiers fell from the open rear door. His body was swallowed by the mass of Skulls.

The soldier with the RPG lost his balance, too. He barely managed to stay inside the vehicle. But once he righted himself, he finished loading another rocket.

Now or never, Dom thought as they approached the end of the swarm.

Dom hadn’t quite thought ahead as to what he would do once he stopped them. Try to run them over? Leave them to the Skulls?

What he really needed was to bring in at least one of the people in charge of this base for a lengthy interrogation. But if he couldn’t achieve that, seeing them all perish at the hands of their own creations wouldn’t be a terrible outcome.

Dom pressed all his weight onto the pedal. The MRAP’s engine let out a throaty growl. The edge of the Skull horde was near. Beyond, Dom now saw what the FGL leaders were trying to reach. There was a row of six helicopters. The blades were already moving on the first three, no doubt ready to take off as soon as these people arrived.

The soldier with the RPG aimed. Dom made a quick calculation, weighing whether it was better to play defense and avoid the rocket or barrel straight ahead while the Skulls were still slowing the MRAP.

An unexpected variable appeared. A Goliath threw itself over the wall of the base. It lumbered toward the MRAPs. Whether it saw them as a threat or prey, Dom didn’t have time to guess. He only knew that the Goliath was directly in their path, a monster just as dangerous as an RPG-launched rocket.

Dom started to swerve to avoid the Goliath just as the lead MRAP cleared the horde of Skulls.

Then the RPG fired.

Now the MRAP was damn near sideways, skidding away from the Goliath. Dom had no time to course-correct. The RPG hit the exposed rear quarter of the MRAP.

Heat and a concussive force slammed into Dom’s back, throwing him into the windshield of the MRAP. Long fingers of smoke and fire splayed from a new wound in his vehicle, finishing what he’d started with the earlier grenade blast. Pain tore through his chest where he’d hit the wheel, and his lungs were robbed of breath.

Ahead, the enemy MRAP smashed into the Goliath. The hood crumpled as the creature leaned into the vehicle like a bull crashing into a matador. The rear end, carried by momentum, flipped upward. The MRAP scraped across concrete, sparking as it came to a stop. A soldier, blood dripping down his forehead, started to crawl out.

Pain made Dom’s muscles tremor. He still hadn’t recovered his breath. His vision was clouded with red—blood or anger, he wasn’t sure. Didn’t care. He had one thought on his mind: Stop Spitkovsky before he gets away.

-41-

The Goliath threw its head back and let out another roar that shook Shepherd’s eardrums. It resonated through his bones and sent electricity sparking through his nerves, the natural response when faced with an apex predator. Sweat dripped down his forehead, carrying with it the dirt and grime that had masked his face.

This was it, his final stand. To think that he’d once resented his desk job at Detrick. Now Shepherd would give anything to be back there.

As the Goliath broke out of the cover of the forest, its form was completely visible for the first time. Huge tusks jutted from its massive underbite, and even the horns atop its head seemed to tremble with rage as its voice boomed. It tossed another two nearby Skulls for good measure. One splattered against the side of the lighthouse. The other smashed through the remnants of glass panes near Shepherd. He raised an arm to shield his face, and Costas fired at the writhing Skull until it went still.

All around the lighthouse platform, the remaining airmen laid down defensive fire. The monsters continued throwing themselves at the tower. Their claws found purchase in the space between bricks, and they carried upward with suicidal fanaticism, baring fangs and shrieking. The door to the platform was now dented from repeated bashes by the Skulls within. Each thump and scrape of claw against metal set Shepherd on edge.

Every second they went without a rescue—if a rescue was even coming—was another second closer to death.

“We need help here!” Divya cried, firing her handgun over the rail of the platform. A Skull fell away, knocking one of its brethren with it. But three more took their places. Divya’s handgun looked pitiful in comparison to the monsters charging up to face her.

Rachel and Rory put themselves in front of the Weavers. The parents struggled to calm their boy. They didn’t look much better off than the child.

Terrence groaned, propped against the wall behind Divya. Matsumoto’s eyes seemed lucid, but he merely stared straight ahead. He was muttering to himself. A prayer. A curse.

Shepherd didn’t care.

This man was the reason they were about to die. The Oni Agent, the Skulls, the fall of the United States. It all led back to this bastard.

Even if Matsumoto died today, shredded by the giant claws of that Goliath, Shepherd didn’t think it would be enough. It was too easy. The man should be punished for his crimes, and a quick death seemed like a mercy he didn’t deserve.

Shepherd funneled his anger through his rifle. One by one, he sent Skulls back to the earth. A creature screamed, lunging up at him. He met it with a flurry of lancing rounds. Bullets stopped the Skull’s shrieking as it spun backwards. Another Skull with shoulder blades that seemed almost large enough to be wings tore up the side of the lighthouse. Its fate was no different from the others.

Costas was trying to station his people around the platform where their firepower would be most useful. The truth was that it didn’t matter; the Skulls were ascending from every direction. Maybe they could hold these bastards back a little longer, but it was just prolonging the inevitable.

The Goliath rumbled toward the lighthouse. It picked up speed on the open road. Each step left a huge footprint in the wet earth, and its bellows grew louder with each loping step. Bullets smacked against its armor. Small chips of bone flew off from each impact, but nothing slowed it. The Goliath might as well have been charging through a cloud of gnats for all the good the small-arms fire did.

Shepherd sighted up the creature’s ugly face. He put his targeting reticule over the Goliath’s nostrils. He squeezed the trigger.

Rounds sliced into the flesh of its nasal cavity. Spots of blood flew from each hit. And still the monster charged, its tusked mouth opens in a wordless challenge. You cannot destroy me, it seemed to be saying.

Watch me, Shepherd thought.

He squeezed the trigger again. Rounds cut into the roof of the creature’s mouth. Now the Goliath stumbled. It sprawled, its mouth slamming shut when its jaw hit the ground. Its huge body rolled, end over end, crushing the spikes along its back.

Navid laughed. It was a half-crazed, manic sound. “Fuck yeah! You did it!”

There was little time to celebrate. The Goliath’s collapse hadn’t done anything to stop the Skulls climbing the lighthouse. Shepherd took down another wave of them.

“I’m all out!” Navid yelled. Shepherd searched his tac vest and tossed the young scientist his last magazine. “That’s all I got.”

Navid jammed it in place. “I’ll make it count.”

The shriek of protesting metal pierced the din of the Skulls. Shepherd swiveled around. The door to the staircase had finally burst open. A Skull reached out and wrapped its bony hands around one of Costas’s men. The man went down hard, and the Skull pulled him toward the rest of its brethren in the stairwell. Claws and teeth sank into the man’s flesh. His cries of agony soon gave way to the sounds of ripping skin and breaking bones.

One of the women grabbed the man’s wrist, engaging in a dangerous bout of tug-of-war with the Skulls.

“Don’t!” Shepherd yelled. “He’s already gone.”

Shepherd fired into the mass of Skulls, sending some of them tumbling back down the stairs.

Costas threw all his weight into the door to hold it shut. Skulls slammed into the door as the sergeant dug his heels into the wall of the watch house.

Another noise soon joined the hellish din. Shepherd could scarcely believe his ears when he heard it. He fired at a Skull then looked westward. Green, red, and white lights blinked in the night sky.

“They’re coming!” he yelled. “Help is on the way!”

They just needed to last a little longer, and then the choppers would be here, whisking them away to Aberdeen. They could do this. If they could survive a plane crash and the journey through the woods, they could hold out for a few more minutes atop the lighthouse.

The Goliath pushed itself up from the ground, shaking off some of the Skulls that had begun climbing its huge body. Trickles of crimson dripped out of its mouth. Shepherd imagined he could smell the stink of its hot breath.

With a heave, the Goliath threw itself at the base of the lighthouse. The tower trembled, and Navid grabbed the handrail, barely stopping himself from plummeting over the side. Colin Weaver shrieked, and his father clapped a hand over his mouth. The Goliath punched a bone-plated fist into the side of the tower. When it pulled its claw out, bricks fell away. The Goliath yanked out steel support beams as if it were tearing open an animal carcass. Then it used the hole as a foothold, propelling itself up a little higher before making another handhold. Each blow shook the lighthouse.

Shepherd wondered whether the beast would make it to the top before the lighthouse collapsed entirely. Which would be the worse way to go?

The Portuguese forces focused their fire on the Goliath. Rounds needled the flesh between its huge plates, but the rush of hot blood from bullet holes didn’t slow it. It climbed upward, one quaking punch after another. A swath of bricks gave way near the Goliath’s side of the lighthouse, spilling the Skulls attached to them.

The Goliath lost a few yards of its progress. It wrapped its claws around the staircase of the tower to steady itself. More Skulls tumbled as the staircase twisted outward.

“We’re going down if we don’t do something about him!” Divya yelled. She fired the pistol at the Goliath. It was about as helpful as spitting in the monster’s eye.

“Focus on the smaller ones!” Shepherd aimed at the Goliath. Bits of its armor were finally cracking, and it looked weaker than before, its movements more cautious. But that made it no less dangerous.

Come on, Shep, he thought. Come on.

He fired at the Goliath’s face, catching its cheekbone and brow. The beast used its hand to guard against the hail of bullets. At least that slowed the monster down. It couldn’t climb when it tried to protect itself.

As soon as it tried to reach for another handhold, Shepherd fired at its bulbous eye. Rounds punched into the bone around its eye socket. Then one plunged straight through the dark orb. The Goliath roared in agony. Its claws grasped its face, and it fell backward, slamming into the ground once more. Its huge form crushed a half dozen Skulls like so many bugs, and it rolled over more as it writhed.

It kept one claw pressed to its eye as it righted itself. Fiery anger radiated from the beast. It hunched down as if it was going to charge the lighthouse. If it couldn’t climb up to its prey, maybe it sought to bring the prey down to it.

“Brace yourselves!” Shepherd yelled.

The Goliath hurtled at them. Shepherd fired, but it was moving too fast. He lost hope of stopping the thing before it caused the lighthouse to collapse.

His ears perked. Amid the cacophony, a new sound had emerged. A drone like that of a saw blade. Suddenly, splashes of red burst from the Goliath’s side, peppering its limbs and face. Its bony plates were chewed up in a matter of seconds, and it slowed, stumbling, unable to carry on under the duress of this new assault.

The machine guns had opened up from the helicopters. Side-gunners sprayed rounds into the Goliath until it finally collapsed, its lungs giving one final heave. Then they fanned gunfire over the remaining Skulls, beating the monsters back into the forest. Bodies piled on top of bodies. One side-gunner even managed to fire into the gaping holes the Goliath had torn into the lighthouse. He shredded the remnants of the horde trying to make it up the staircase and past Costas.

Cheers erupted around the roof. Shepherd pulled Divya into a hug. Navid pumped a fist into the air. Rachel shook Rory’s shoulders, yelling in triumph. The Weavers embraced each other in a family group hug. Costas wiped the sweat off his face. His expression of worry gave way to a victorious grin.

They had done it. They had actually done it.

The smile that had spread across Shepherd’s face soon fell away as they loaded the wounded onto the helicopters. Their victory here had been hard won. The Portuguese airmen had sacrificed themselves to give the group the final inches to make it here. It had worked, but it had come at an unexpectedly high price.

Shepherd said a prayer as the Black Hawks took them off into the night, away from the lighthouse, the deadly forest, and the plane crash. Onward they went with Matsumoto and the precious seed samples of Phoenix Compound. Maybe, if they were lucky, the sacrifices here could save lives in the future.

Maybe they were about to make real progress against the Oni Agent, starting here, in the United States. Shepherd turned from the window and looked at the shriveled old man who was both the architect of humanity’s doom and its potential savior. Many good men and women had lost their lives to get him on this chopper.

It better have been worthwhile.

-42-

The man’s eyes went glassy, and his mouth hung open. His fingers had been clenched, his nails digging into his palms. Now they straightened slowly, like a pianist’s digits reaching for the ivories. Lauren swore she saw the man’s spirit leave his body. She was probably imagining things. Exhaustion and stress had been stalwart companions over the past—oh God, had it really been less than a day?

She exhaled slowly and felt for the man’s pulse.

Nothing. She hadn’t expected him to live. Half his face was charred. The other half had been split open by a Skull.

Another one lost. That was three, maybe four patients dead. She had lost count. They had saved many more, but that wouldn’t help her sleep at night.

Not that she was ever going to sleep again, the rate things were going. Even with the help of the medical personnel who had survived the Skull attack, they didn’t have enough people to staff a standard emergency room, much less provide adequate triage for a major disaster like this.

As she turned away from the deceased man and searched for her next patient, the world around her flooded back. The odor of blood and burned skin and hair filled her nose. The groans of the injured and the sounds of frantic voices asking for help cut through the air.

“Lauren!” a voice rose above the din. “Lauren!”

She looked toward the entrance. Kara was leading another stretcher into the med bay. A man was splayed across it. Deep lacerations, wet with blood, stretched across his abdomen and arms. It was a wonder the man was alive at all. Her gazed roved over him instinctually as she catalogued his injuries, noting the worst. When she reached his face, she gasped.

“Sean!” Lauren ran to his stretcher.

She grabbed his hand. His palms were clammy. But as her fingers probed his wrist, she felt a pulse. Weak, but it was there. She took over from Kara and guided the stretcher to an available bed. There were still bloodstains from the previous patient.

Sean’s abdomen was a mess. Lauren immediately set to cleaning it so she could search for a way to stop the bleeding.

“What do we have?” Peter asked. Then his eyes grew wide. “Let me in. I’ve got this.”

Lauren didn’t question him. If there was internal bleeding, she’d rather have Peter’s expert surgical skills dealing with the issue. Still, her thoughts stayed with Sean even as she moved on to another patient. Then she noticed Kara hadn’t left her side.

“Sean had this with him,” Kara said, holding out a notebook. “He said he found it. Before he passed out, I mean. Thought you might want to know.”

“Thanks, Kara,” Lauren said, taking the notebook. “Are there more patients coming?”

“I think Frank just left for the last batch.”

“Good. Go help with them.”

Kara jogged through the bustle of the med bay toward the exit. Lauren opened the notebook to the last page. It was covered with Sean’s handwriting. Part of it had been torn, and the bloody smudge marks made it difficult to read. But she could make out enough of it to understand what he’d been trying to tell Kara.

“Holy shit,” she said. Sean had found it, all right. The source of the outbreak was nothing like what they had expected. There had been no bioweapon attack. It was much cruder than that.

Another moan caused her to whip around. A woman was clutching her arm. Muscle glistened beneath shredded skin.

Lauren set aside the revelation of Sean’s findings. There were people that needed to be helped now, their lives very much in her hands. But once she was done here, the real work would begin.

Yes, the FGL had evidently developed an airborne strain of the Oni Agent, as evidenced by the canister the men had dropped on the Huntress. But according to Sean’s work, that wasn’t what had happened here.  

Lajes was home to a pack of wild dogs, and those dogs had a flea infestation. And those fleas happened to be carrying the Oni Agent. Instead of just producing more Phoenix Compound, what they really needed to stop the spread of the Oni Agent on Lajes was an exterminator.

***

Meredith looked at the third freighter still floating upright in the water. A loose Goliath rampaged on the top deck and knocked over shipping containers. As it broke containers apart, more Skulls filled the ship. Some plunged uselessly over the side into the water. Others followed the chains to land like rats disembarking at a new port. The Russian soldiers and what remained of their Hybrid forces fired into the growing crowd of Skulls. Droolers fired back with sprays of acid, and a few Goliaths swung their huge fists, paying no heed to whether they were hitting human, Hybrid, or Skull.

O’Neil winced. “We have lost most of the Hybrids.”

“You can tell?” Meredith asked.

“The signal or whatever it is just seems weaker.” The muscles in his jaw worked, clenching and unclenching. He looked as if he were chewing on gristle. Meredith guessed the pain was getting to him again. “We’ve got to finish this fast. We’re losing control.”

“We only have two more of the bombs Meredith and I made,” Andris said. “This must count.”

“I’ll take it to the ship,” Glenn volunteered.

“Send me with him,” Spencer said. “We’ll end this bullshit right here, right now.”

It broke Meredith’s heart to see the Hunters so willing to sacrifice themselves. There was now a roiling mass of Skulls and soldiers and enemy Hybrids between them and the remaining freighter. Even if the Hunters made it there, they knew they were buying a one-way ticket.

“No,” O’Neil said. “None of you stands a chance. The Skulls will eat you alive if you don’t get shot first.”

“We have no choice,” Jenna said. “I’ll swim from here if I have to.”

“Too slow,” O’Neil said. He gestured to the four remaining Hybrids with the Hunters. “We are three navy SEALs and a Moroccan citizen with nothing to lose. We have the armor and speed. We can do this for you.”

Andris hesitated. “Very well.” He held out the last of their homemade bombs.

O’Neil rallied the Hybrids and disappeared into the chaos. Meredith tried to watch them as they plunged through the Skulls and soldiers, but it soon became impossible.

“If they don’t make it,” she said, “we need some kind of contingency plan.”

“I have no more explosives,” Andris said, “but we can at least damage the ship.”

“What do you have in mind, bro?” Miguel asked.

Andris pointed to the vacant anti-aircraft guns. The Russians had abandoned them in their losing land battle with the Skulls. “Those should put some holes into that freighter.”

“It’s better than any plan I got,” Spencer said. “Which is nothing.”

“Then let’s do it,” Meredith said.

The group charged to the AA guns. Any Skulls that dared cross their path were met with bullets and blades. Once they reached the guns, they formed a perimeter.

Andris went to the first. “They left these in working order for us. Very kind of them.” He glanced at the group as if sizing them up. “We need two people for each. Glenn?”

Glenn nodded and sat in one of the seats next to him.

“I will aim,” Andris said, “and you will fire when I say.”

“I can do that.”

“Don’t forget,” Meredith said, “we also need to trash these things when we leave.”

Andris patted his tac vest. “I lied about being out of explosives. I have just enough C4 to ruin them. It is much easier to destroy these than the freighter.”

Meredith settled in beside the anti-aircraft gun. Andris wheeled it around to aim at the ship. They waited, tension hanging in the air. Meredith’s heart thudded against her ribcage as she studied the stern of the freighter, waiting for an explosion. She needed to see that explosion. She needed to know that Spitkovsky’s Skull armies weren’t going to make landfall anywhere else. Let their rotted bodies clog this harbor and prevent any other ship from making port here.

Her scope roved over the Skulls tearing apart the facility near the ship. She looked for the Hybrids, but she could hardly tell where one Skull ended and another began as the swarm pressed toward the ships.

She was sure O’Neil and his Hybrids had failed. There was no way they could’ve made it through all of that to plant the C4.

Then she saw a plume of water rise from the stern of the ship. It took a fraction of second for the sound wave to follow, hitting her with an almost palpable force. Another blast soon followed, and the container ship let out a metallic groan. It started to dip backward into the water, inch by inch.

“Dom,” Meredith said. “Dom, can you hear me? We did it. The third ship is down. I repeat, the third ship is down.”

“Copy,” Dom said, his voice sounding raspy and weak, as if he was choking down a cough.

“Dom? What’s going on?” Meredith asked. “Dom? Do you read?”

“I was in a crash,” Dom said. “No time to explain. I need backup by the helicopter pad. Spitkovsky is getting away.”

“Christ,” Miguel said. “I don’t know how in the hell we’re going to make it there.”

Meredith’s stomach lurched. Between them and the helipad was a wall of Skulls. The monsters that had been streaming straight through the shipyard had started to spread out, which meant the Hybrids must be losing control. There was no way the Hunters could get through the Skulls without taking heavy losses.

Somewhere, past the writhing tide of diseased flesh, Dom needed her help.

An explosion boomed across the shipyard. Fire rolled out of one of the warehouse’s windows. The FGL was losing their hold on their last bastion of defense. While the mission had gone haywire, the Hunters had succeeded in causing far more damage than they had ever intended.

“Andris,” Meredith said, “the ship is sinking. Can we use the guns to clear a hole in the Skulls now?”

“We can definitely try,” Andris said.

The AA guns exploded to life again, shells ripping into Skulls. Black smoke and showering debris filled the battlefield. Skulls were torn apart in the blasts, heads blowing away in red mist, limbs and torsos shredded. But Meredith could already see it might not be enough.

“More Skulls incoming!” Jenna yelled, pointing in the opposite direction.

Several dozen Skulls ambled toward them. Meredith opened fire along with Spencer, Miguel, and Jenna. Their fusillade tore through the rows of Skulls.

She sighted up another target and started to squeeze the trigger. Then she let go, startled. “Hold your fire!”

The last Skull wore pants like those of the prisoners that Alpha had rescued from the laboratory. And it was carrying a gun. As it drew closer, she realized it was no ordinary Skull. The man’s face was clearly that of a human’s despite the spikes and plates growing from his limbs.

It was O’Neil. He was alone. He weaved between Skulls, firing on them or bashing them with the stock of his rifle. When he reached them through the carnage, dust and soot covering his face, he wore a solemn expression.

“Where are the others?” Meredith asked, but she feared she already knew the answer.

Instead of answering, O’Neil collapsed. His chest heaved as he sucked down air. He was weak, stretched to the limits of his starved body by the night’s events and the painful experiments that had wreaked havoc on his physiology.

Forcing herself to ignore the instinctual loathing she felt for his grotesque appearance, Meredith reached down to help him sit up. She had a little bit of water left, and she offered it to him. After gulping it down, O’Neil met her questioning gaze. “They’re gone, ma’am. I’m all that’s left.”

-43-

Despite his shrieking pain, Dom leapt out of the wreckage of his MRAP. The RPG round had laid waste not just to the vehicle, but also the Skulls around it. Spears of metal jutted out from a few of the downed beasts. Others were little more than mangled limbs and torsos. They dragged themselves across the ground toward him, but Dom could already see the fire in the beasts’ eyes was dying out.

The distant boom of the AA guns told him the others still hadn’t been able to leave their positions. No matter. He would carry on alone. The rest of the swarm, farther away, hadn’t been attracted by the fire-and-brimstone show of the crashed MRAPs. Normally, Dom would’ve expected them to be on his position. He wondered if what the Hybrids had told him and the Hunters about their tenuous control over the beasts had something to do with it. If that was the case, he prayed the chemical spell cast over their Skulls would hold.

He still had one thing he needed to get done.

A couple of soldiers struggled out of the MRAP that was crumpled against the Goliath’s corpse. The bodies of three more soldiers lay strewn about. Dom shouldered his rifle as he limped forward, firing at the dazed men. His shots connected, throwing the first man back to the ground. The other two spun around to see who was shooting at them. Dom ended another before the man could react.

The third lifted his rifle to his shoulder and fired. Dom continued marching straight toward him. There was nowhere to hide. No cover between him and his enemy. But the soldier must’ve been concussed, his vision blurry. His shots went wide, sparking against pavement. Dom sent the man to the ground with a few squeezes of his trigger.

Pain still lanced up his leg. He couldn’t quite walk straight. He wasn’t sure there was an ounce of adrenaline left in his body to push him forward or assuage the agony rolling through his muscles. But that hardly mattered. Something even more powerful fueled him now.

He was pissed off.

Another person climbed out of the MRAP and began running toward the row of choppers. Dom’s heart stuttered. It was the man in the black fatigues. Tall and muscled. Spitkovsky.

As much as he hated the idea of it, he needed Spitkovsky alive. Not dead.

Slowing his breathing, he took aim and fired. A single shot punched into Spitkovsky’s leg. The hulking man stumbled and cried out, but he did not fall.

Dom ran after the man the best he could. They were both limping now, but Spitkovsky still had the advantage. Sweat and blood trickled down Dom’s forehead and stung his eyes. He was flagging, and at this rate he would not catch the bastard. He plugged another round into Spitkovsky’s leg. This time the man dropped.

“You’re mine!” Dom bellowed.

The cries of the Skull horde sounded behind him. Their claws scraped over the concrete, and their plates clacked together. And still, somehow, they were surging away from him like a river, immutable in its course.

Thank you, Reynolds, Dom thought. And thank the rest of your brethren for their sacrifice.

Spitkovsky crawled in the dirt. The choppers were still over a hundred yards away, and no one had rushed from the birds to save the Russian. Dom grinned. Spitkovsky had ruled his people through fear, not loyalty. Now that he was a ruined man dragging his body slowly across the pavement, they would not fear him anymore.

Dom closed the distance between them in a few more seconds. He drove his knee into the back of Spitkovsky’s spine, forcing the man down. Spitkovsky let out a pathetic cry. He was nothing like the man Dom had faced before. He was a sniveling wreck, a husk of his former self.

Grabbing the man’s collar, Dom twisted the Russian around to face him.

And then he realized why Spitkovsky was acting like such a coward.

It wasn’t him.

Frustration and anger boiled up inside him. He let it loose in a blow that crushed the imposter’s cheekbone. The man’s beret flew off, revealing short-cropped black hair. The man had a wide nose and smooth skin. Dark bags hung under his eyes, and blood trickled out of his cracked lip and over his plump cheek.

“Where is he?” Dom growled, his knee now pressing into the man’s chest.

“I don’t...who are you talking about?” the man asked. “I don’t understand.”

He had a hint of a Persian accent. An Iranian running around with all these Russians? Dom found it odd, but they’d already established that someone within the Iranian government had been working with the FGL. War made strange bedfellows.

“Where’s Spitkovsky?”

“He’s not here,” the man said.

“Who are you?”

“Abbasi,” the man spat out. “Reza Abbasi.”

“Who’s in charge, Reza?” Dom dug his knee in harder.

“I am.” Bloody snot dribbled out of the man’s nose. Spitkovsky had put a guy like this in charge of a base like this? Dom didn’t buy it.

“Tell me the goddamned truth.”

“I did!” the man yelled.

There was no way. No goddamn way. “What the fuck is going on here?”

“Nothing. We are doing nothing.”

“Cut the shit.” Dom took out his pistol and pressed it under Reza’s chin. “What are you really doing?”

Reza said nothing. Dom thought he smelled the odor of a released bladder.

Dom pointed the gun at Reza’s arm and then nodded back toward the horde of charging Skulls. “With just one working arm, what do you think your chances are of getting away?”

Dom fired the pistol. Reza cried out like a terrified child. Dom hadn’t even been aiming at him; he’d fired at the ground.

“Tell me what was going on here.”

“You must’ve seen. The genetic mutants. The monsters we made. They can control these other ones. Please, you must believe me.”

“Where is Spitkovsky?”

“He isn’t here,” Reza said, blubbering now. “I swear he isn’t here.”

Dom fired a round into Reza’s outstretched hand. The man bellowed in agony.

“Where is he?”

“He’s in—”

Something sliced across Reza’s throat, leaving a crimson line, and Reza went silent. A flash of yellow. And then Dom was thrown backward, his pistol flying from his hand and clattering somewhere behind him. He scrambled to his knees in time to see Dimitri perched over Reza’s body, one taloned foot grinding into Reza’s neck. He rubbed his claws together as if he were sharpening a handful of knives all at once.

“Your friend was no match for me,” he said. It took Dom a moment to realize he meant Reynolds and not Reza. “Must’ve been weak from being starved.”

Dom wanted to believe the SEAL had come out victorious, even with the odds against him, but he had already guessed the truth. A pang of regret shuddered through him nonetheless. He’d abandoned Reynolds, and the Hybrid had sacrificed himself for Dom to make it here.

Dimitri sighed and stepped off the corpse. “Reza should’ve known better than to talk.”

As Dimitri approached, Dom inched backward, his fingers creeping toward his pistol. Dimitri’s eyes seemed to be focused on the Skulls. “Your friends”—he pressed his claws to his chest—“like me have learned quite well how to excite those monsters up, haven’t they? They should be very proud. It is sad that it doesn’t hardly matter. We’re done here anyway.”

“Your ships aren’t going anywhere,” Dom said. His finger touched the metal of the handgun. He’d seen how quick Dimitri was. He had to be quicker. “You’ve lost.”

“Three cargo ships.” Dimitri shrugged. “It’s a tragedy to lose a few foot soldiers, yes. But the real victory is this.” He indicated his own body. “I suppose I should have thanked Reza for his work. Ah well. I find I do not care anymore. Reza served his purpose.”

Dom was hardly listening. He had to do this right. Had to peg Dimitri square between the eyes.

“Spitkovsky does not like you. Not one bit. You and your silly little band of pirates, believing you are saving the world. You thought you stopped his people long ago, but you never did.” Dimitri bent to meet Dom’s eyes. “He will be quite jealous to know I was the one that ended your life.”

The Hybrid raised a claw. Dom twisted and grabbed his handgun. He raised it toward Dimitri’s face and squeezed the trigger.

Too slow. By a second, maybe less. But still too slow.

Dimitri wrapped his claws around Dom’s wrist and yanked his arm upward.

“I told you, this is the time and place of your death,” Dimitri said, his fangs bared. “This is where it all ends, you arrogant bastard.”

He stabbed out with his free hand and drove his claws into Dom’s shoulder. Dom grimaced but refused to give the monster the satisfaction of so much as a whimper.

Twisting his claw around, Dimitri tore at muscle and skin. Dom clenched his jaw and swung a leg into Dimitri’s knee. He hit it hard enough that bone chips flew off. Dimitri’s grip on his wrist loosened, and he ducked under the Hybrid’s swinging claw. He sent an uppercut into Dimitri’s chin. It hurt Dom more than it did Dimitri, but the Hybrid was distracted, off balance.

With another powerful kick to Dimitri’s abdomen, the Hybrid fell over. Dom swooped toward his pistol and snagged it in one sweat-slick hand. His heart pounded in his ears, the blood roaring like a waterfall. Victory was close. Dimitri was the arrogant one, not Dom, and his arrogance would cost him his life. Dom turned the gun on Dimitri and started to squeeze the trigger.

An ear-shattering bellow slammed into him, throwing his focus off for just a second. Dimitri dodged, and the bullet punched into the pavement where the Hybrid had been. The Goliath the MRAP had run into was back on its feet. Its chest was caved in, and its bone plates were covered in scarlet blood. It lumbered toward Dimitri and Dom, apparently not as affected by the call of the Hybrids as the rest of the Skulls.

Dimitri didn’t seem to care. He came at Dom in a flurry of claws. Dom parried the attack as best he could. His fingers clung to the pistol with every reserve of strength he had. He just needed one opening. One shot. He could end this and get away before the Goliath stomped him to ragged bits.

His strength flagged. He found himself more on the defensive, barely fending off Dimitri’s assault. The Hybrid’s strength and armor were a powerful combination when coupled with a human intellect instead of the rotted neurological tissue that passed for a Skull’s brain. Fighting Dimitri was unlike facing anyone Dom had ever engaged with.

“You will not win,” Dimitri said, a clawed hand connecting with Dom’s fatigues. It scraped against body armor and ripped away fabric.

Dom staggered, trying to remain upright even as his injured leg threatened to give way. He managed to squeeze off a few shots directly into Dimitri’s ribs. The bullets cracked the bony armor but didn’t seem to do much more than push Dimitri back.

The Hybrid kicked at Dom’s hand, and the pistol flew away again, this time far outside Dom’s reach.

Dimitri’s muscles coiled, and he shot forward, leading with claws outstretched. Dom braced himself, ready to grapple again, his chest heaving and his lungs burning.

Automatic gunfire chattered somewhere to his left. Rounds smacked against Dimitri, just enough to throw him slightly off balance, and his lunge missed. As Dimitri skidded across the concrete, leaving a trail of bloody bone fragments, Dom finally had room to swing his dropped rifle up and shoulder it. He aimed at the back of Dimitri’s head and unleashed a torrent of rounds.

Dimitri went still. Dom kept the rifle trained on the Hybrid, not trusting him to stay down. For good measure, he riddled Dimitri’s spine with bullets. The Goliath was still dragging itself toward him, limping even worse than Dom. He kicked Dimitri over and fired again. The Hybrid appeared to be dead, his jaw slack. Blood soaked through his uniform.

The helicopters took off.

No wonder they hadn’t helped Reza; they hadn’t cared. They’d been waiting for Dimitri, who by all rights should’ve been able to take care of himself.

Dom crouched by Dimitri’s body, searching the chaos for the person who had fired on him and saved Dom’s life. It had all happened too quickly for the other Hunters to reach him. At least, that was what he’d thought.

“Captain Holland!” a voice called. A familiar voice. Hamid waved at him from the walkway overlooking the water. Jalil stood next to him with his rifle still shouldered and trained on the injured Goliath. “Captain Holland!”

Dom waved back then quickly patted Dimitri down. He took a satellite phone from Dimitri’s belt and found an SD card in one of his pockets secured in a protective plastic container. Dom ignored the roaring Goliath as it heaved its body forward, desperate to catch its prey. As he jogged to Hamid and Jalil, a few Skulls from the horde split off from the pack to give chase.

The allied Hybrids were definitely losing their hold on the monsters—if they hadn’t lost it already. Jalil picked off the Skulls pursuing Dom.

“I told you I’d come back for you,” Dom said when he reached them.

“We got tired of waiting,” Hamid said. “And besides, it looks as if you needed us here.”

Dom patted Hamid’s back then nodded at Jalil. “Thank you for your help. Now, I promised I’d get you out of here, and that’s just what I’ll do.”

More Skulls were pouring toward them. Dom was exhausted, but he was determined to keep his promise. They would leave this place together.

“We’re losing control!” Meredith shouted over the comm link. “Get moving!”

Dom surveyed the shipyard. The MRAPs were down, and the two helicopters were nothing more than diminishing specks in the sky. All three freighters were slowly sinking, taking their terrible cargo with them. The scattered remains of civilian and military vehicles littered the shipyards. There was no telling if any of them were in working condition, and they didn’t have time to figure it out. Then he remembered the tugboats. They had to be operational. Otherwise, those freighters full of Skulls never could’ve been maneuvered into port.

“There!” Dom yelled. He ran down the pier toward the nearest tugboats. Hamid and Jalil trailed him. Jalil stood at the stern, firing on the approaching Skulls, while Dom ran up to the wheelhouse. He dropped into the pilot seat and brought the engine to life. With both hands on the steering levers, he throttled the tugboat away from the pier.

The craft only had a top speed of thirteen knots. The Skulls could run nearly as fast. Jalil could no longer keep them back, but Dom had put enough distance between the craft and the pier that the Skulls tumbled into the water, their claws never so much as scraping the gunwale of the boat.

“Bravo, Alpha,” Dom said, “I’m on my way. Procured myself the Huntress II. We’re getting out of here.”

“Shit, Chief, that you in the tugboat?” Miguel asked over the comm link. “We got a regular naval fleet now.”

“While you’re awaiting pickup, take those helicopters down before you scuttle the AA.”

“It would be my pleasure, Captain,” Andris said. Soon, the throaty burst of anti-aircraft fire pierced the sky. A second later, fireballs erupted in the darkness.

The spark of gunfire led him toward the rest of the Hunters. Dom steered the tugboat, maneuvering tightly against the edge of the pier. The Hunters piled on. Dom counted only one Hybrid left with them.

“Where are the rest?” Dom asked.

The Hybrid that had joined them stared at Dom with hard, bloodshot eyes. “I’m all that’s left.”

“Understood.” Dom pushed the steering levers forward, and the tugboat began its slow acceleration away from the shipyard. A fire raged in one of the warehouses. Skulls now poured over the anti-aircraft guns. Silhouetted against the burning warehouse, they cast flickering, ghoulish shadows. “Blow the AA guns, Andris.”

Charges detonated with blasts like cannon fire. Flames licked into the night sky, and chunks of Skulls flew up with them. As the debris settled, the surviving Skulls continued their rampage toward the tugboat. They paid no heed when the remnants of their soiled clothes caught fire. They leapt at their escaping prey, but most landed in the water, flames hissing as they were put out, and the beasts sank below the murky surface. A few scrabbled for purchase on the hull, but the Hunters made short work of them.

Meredith climbed the ladder to the wheelhouse and sidled up beside Dom. She placed a hand on his shoulder. Her touch sent a wave of warmth through him.

“We did it,” she said.

“We did.”

“You okay?”

Dom huffed. “I don’t think anyone’s okay. But we’re alive. Thanks to the SEALs and the Moroccans.”

“Brave of them to step up like that,” Meredith said.

They were silent for a moment. The growling tugboat took them farther from the shipyard as the flames spread. The chorus of Skulls diminished as they distanced themselves from the creatures, one choppy wave at a time.

When they turned westward on the Strait of Gibraltar, Dom let go of the controls, letting the boat go on its own. He wrapped his arms around Meredith and pulled her in close. He forgot about the pain his leg and the odor of burning fuel and flesh that still clung to them both. Waves lapped against the tugboat in a rhythm familiar to him from years at sea. It felt almost like being home.

They might’ve parted ways only hours ago, but it had seemed like months. Her touch opened a floodgate in him, and he felt the stress and anxiety and fear hit him all at once like a rogue wave slamming against a ship. He pressed his mouth greedily to hers, wanting to feel the proof that they were both still alive. His hand slid up the back of her neck, and she snaked an arm around his waist.

Eventually, they surfaced for air. He leaned on the wheelhouse’s console to support himself. Kissing Meredith Webb might make him feel like a giddy teenager, but in reality he was a battered old soldier caught up in an endless war.

“Do you think it’ll ever be over?” he asked.

“We can still win this thing,” Meredith said, her hand still grasping his. “It felt like we were so damn close to Spitkovsky. But now we’ve got his people running scared.” She nodded toward the crew gathered along the stern. They were clapping each other on the back and hugging, relieved to be out of Tangier at last. Only one figure stood alone, looking as gloomy as the sea before a squall. “And now we’ve got a Hybrid on our side. That’s got to count for something.”

An image of Dimitri flashed before Dom’s eyes. “After seeing what they can do, I’d have to agree.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out the plastic container with the SD card. “And we’ve got this. I found it on the Russian Hybrid running this operation. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I’ve got a gut feeling this could be important.”

“Whether your gut is right or not, we stopped a major enemy operation,” Meredith said. “And if Shepherd’s mission works out, we’ll be back in Kinsey’s good graces by the time we get home.”

Dom nodded. He would be grateful to be working with the United States government again rather than around them. But there was something troubling in Meredith’s words. Something he had known all along. He just hadn’t acknowledged it so bluntly before.

“When this all started, we thought we were dealing with an outbreak,” Dom said. “But it’s not about the Skulls anymore. It never really was, of course.”

“What do you mean?

“This is war. All-out war.”

“‘I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones,’” Meredith quoted.

“Biological weapons instead of nuclear, but Einstein was right as usual,” Dom said. “The Oni Agent leveled the playing field. No more superpowers. We’re damn close to sticks and stones again.”

Meredith stared out over the bow. “But we’re not there yet. Spitkovsky can still be stopped.”

“Damn right, he can be stopped,” Dom said. “And if I’ve got any say in the matter, we’ll be the ones that do it.”

-Epilogue-

The smell of fresh coffee permeated the mess of the Huntress. Dom enveloped Kara and Sadie in a hug as Maggie’s tail beat the bulkhead. She was eager to be a part of the family bonding experience and weaseled her way between them.

“Too tight, Dad,” Sadie said. “Every morning, you squeeze us like this. Eventually, we’re going to pop.”

Kara laughed and tousled her younger sister’s hair. “We’re made of stronger stuff than that, aren’t we?”

“Of course you are. You’re Hollands,” Dom said. “And you better get used to the hugging because it isn’t going to stop.”

He let go of them, his morning ritual of greeting them with an embrace complete.

“I don’t mind the hugs, Dad,” Kara said.

He smiled at that, but there was a hint of the bittersweet in those words. Kara, like him, had long since learned the invaluable worth of family time in a world where most people’s families had quite literally been torn apart.

“I’m glad you made it back, Dad,” Sadie said. “And this time just a few stitches, huh?” She poked his shoulder.

The muscle was still tender, but it was nothing compared to the wounds in his leg. Lauren had chided him as he had predicted, all but saying, “I told you so.” At least now he had some time to allow the injury to heal.

Kara handed him his crutch. “For the morning rounds.”

Dom took it reluctantly. Part of his deal with Lauren had been exerting as little pressure as possible on the damaged leg. The tissues needed rest, but Dom couldn’t sit still while there was work to be done. The crutch was a compromise. Sadie stayed behind in the mess, giving Maggie the belly scratches she deserved, as Dom limped out to the passageway.

Kara followed. “Dad?”

He paused outside the hatch. “Yes?”

“I’m just...really, really glad you didn’t get shot this time. Every time you go out there...” She wiped an eye. “Every time you go out there it gets a little harder, you know?”

Dom swallowed hard. “I know.” He hugged her again, and she pressed her face into the crook of his shoulder. They stayed like that until she drew away, her eyes red and puffy.

“I know I’m just being a huge baby. But this time, I almost lost both you and—” She stopped in midsentence, and the wide-eyed expression showed that she thought she’d said something wrong.

“Navid?” Dom finished for her.

“Yeah,” Kara said, looking sheepish. “When you both left, it felt a little like I was tearing apart inside. I don’t mean to sound whiny, but I hate this. I can’t stand being left behind when you leave.”

“I understand,” Dom said. “I hate leaving you. I’m sure Navid hated it too.”

“But we all do what we have to.” Kara stood straighter. “Sometimes I wish I could be out there with you. Be a Hunter myself someday.”

That frightened Dom more than he had thought possible. He tried to prevent his fear from crawling into his expression. “I’d rather you be safe.”

Kara laughed. “I know. I just feel like there’s got to be more I can do.”

“You’re doing enough just by being here,” Dom said. “You’ve helped Lauren in the lab. I guess if you’re really eager to pitch in, you can clean the mess or the heads.”

To his surprise, Kara didn’t look the least bit fazed. “I’ll do whatever needs getting done.”

“That’s my girl,” Dom said, squeezing her shoulder.

His next stop was the med bay. Most of the Portuguese airmen had been transported to the cleaned-up medical ward at Lajes. While the isolation ward had been burned to the ground, the general ward had been recoverable enough to ease the load on the med bay aboard the Huntress. They’d finally had enough time to catch up on Phoenix Compound production to stomp out the Oni Agent infestation on Lajes.

Dom stopped beside the first patient he saw. “Sean, how are you doing?”

The epidemiologist’s face was covered in sutures, and bandages wrapped his abdomen. “I’ve had better days, but I’m alive now, so that’s all there is to it.”

“You did a hell of a job,” Dom said. He’d read the epidemiologist’s report. The Oni Agent at Lajes hadn’t gone airborne after all. It had been spread by fleas, just like the bubonic plague.

Just as the Oni Agent had evolved to become airborne and antibiotic resistant aboard the Huntress, the Oni Agent at Lajes had been festering in a pack of stray dogs before making the evolutionary leap to using fleas as a carrier. The dogs themselves had contracted the Agent after scavenging the flesh of a Skull washed ashore on one of the far reaches of the island.

That the Oni Agent had evolved in this microenvironment so rapidly gave Dom pause. He wondered what other transformations the Oni Agent had made throughout the rest of the globe. What other strange variations might they find?

He prayed his medical team was equipped to handle the task, and that the Phoenix Compound was equal to the task. They would need all hands on deck to face the next threat.

“You focus on getting your ass better instead of just lying about all lazy-like, understood?” Dom asked Sean with a slight smirk.

“I get enough of that from Lauren. Don’t need it coming from you, too.”

Lauren was tending to one of their newest patients, Petty Officer Brendon O’Neil.

“How’s it going?” Dom asked.

“We’re doing our best to come up with a pain-management protocol,” Lauren said. “Every day, we get a little closer to balancing dosages.”

“I like the drugs, Doc,” O’Neil said, “but I also like to be able to think clearly.”

“Exactly,” Lauren said. “It’ll take some time, but I’m confident we can manage the symptoms of what the FGL have done to him.”

“And what have they done?” Dom asked.

Lauren tapped on a syringe before inserting it into a bulging vein beneath a plate on O’Neil’s arm. “They reengineered the Oni Agent. The nanobacteria component is almost fully intact, but they’ve managed to control them and stop the prion production.”

“So while they didn’t mess with my mind, those nano-things still did this.” O’Neil held up his claws and then looked up at Lauren. “What did those geeks call me?”

“They didn’t call you anything,” Lauren said. “But Samantha and Chao uncovered a name in the intel they recovered from the FGL. Apparently, they took some of Matsumoto’s initial research from the Congo and used it to create what they called the Heikegani Agent.”

O’Neil sighed, closing his eyes as the effects of the painkillers took hold. “They’re these Japanese crabs whose shells kind of look like a warrior’s face. Some people believe they’re the spirits of angry samurai. Just like me, they got the rage of a fighter and the body of an armored beast.”

“Something like that,” Lauren said. “Sorry about the name.”

“I’ve been called worse,” O’Neil said.

“Heikegani Agent,” Dom repeated, testing the word on his tongue. “And as far as you and Peter can tell, that’s all they were working on in Tangier?”

“That’s right. A new wave of warriors with the ability to exert some influence over Skulls.”

“This just keeps getting better,” Dom said. He turned to O’Neil. “I never really thanked you for what you did for us.”

“You don’t have to,” O’Neil said, sitting straighter. His bony spikes rattled against each other. “You freed us.”

“But the sacrifices you and the others made can’t be taken lightly.”

“They weren’t sacrifices. We wanted revenge for what those people did to us. The torture they put us through. The experiments.” He shuddered. Under Lauren’s care, Dom could see his flesh had turned from gray to a healthier olive complexion. His body had regained a little mass, too. He no longer looked like a victim of a death camp, although he might be mistaken for a living embodiment of death with all the claws and armor. “We spent every day wishing we could die. You gave us the chance to free ourselves from that prison—both the one with the bars and our bodies. You owe us nothing.”

Dom wasn’t sure if he should ask the next question on his mind. But O’Neil wasn’t the type of guy to bullshit around, and Dom figured they owed each other brutal honesty. “Do you still feel the need to free yourself?”

O’Neil tensed for a moment, then his limbs relaxed. He settled into the bed once more. “I thought I still wanted to die. But I’m not ready. As long as the doc here can keep me at a dull seven or eight instead of an agonizing ten on the pain scale, I still want my revenge on Spitkovsky. Because until he’s dead, he’s just going to have more Rezas and Dimitris to do his bidding, creating more monsters.” O’Neil swallowed hard. “Monsters like me.”

“Understood,” Dom said. “If you want, I can get you back to your command. See if they want to assign you to work with the SEALs again.”

O’Neil’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the last thing I want. You know what’s going to happen if you hand me over to the military. More poking and prodding. I don’t want to be an experiment again.”

Lauren looked at Dom. “I’ve already promised not to do any research on O’Neil without his consent.”

Dom understood what she was implying, and in that second, he already knew O’Neil had been through the fires of hell and withstood those flames. He’d proven to be selfless and courageous. “You’d make a damn fine Hunter if you want to stay and fight with us.”

At that, O’Neil grinned. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

Dom left the medical bay, glad to have the SEAL and Hybrid on the crew. The crew quarters had started to feel empty around here, and the team had taken its share of casualties. Each one of them still haunted Dom at night. He couldn’t help but see Renee and Hector when he closed his eyes, and Ivan and Scott and Brett. He hadn’t thought of replacing them yet; it was a cliché, he knew, but they couldn’t really be replaced.

Still, O’Neil brought all the skill and professionalism of a SEAL plus the unique assets of a Hybrid to the team. He was a hell of a warrior.

Continuing on his rounds, Dom entered the electronics workshop. Frank was leaning over the table at the center of the room, watching a computer monitor as Chao worked. Thomas was sprawled in another seat near Samantha.

“Do you read me?” a voice called through the speakers. Dom recognized the voice from their time with the Moroccans—one of Jalil’s men.

“We do,” Chao said. “Call us if you need aid. We’ll do our best to provide assistance.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Got the boys back home,” Frank said simply. “Jalil and Hamid didn’t seem to enjoy their first helicopter ride. I had to break out the barf bags.”

“We took the AA guns out,” Dom said. “There was no need for acrobatics.”

“Hey, I tried making it as smooth as possible. Winds are little choppy. Think we got a storm front rolling in.”

“More than one front,” Samantha said. Frank raised an eyebrow. “I’m speaking metaphorically here. I thought you’d be able to handle that.”

Frank tapped his temple. “Haven’t had my coffee yet. You know, too busy shuttling people back and forth over Skull country.”

“And we all appreciate your hard work,” Dom said, placing a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Now why not grab yourself a cup of coffee? I’ve got some business with these fine folks.”

“My pleasure.” Frank sauntered out of the workshop.

“You have data for me?” Dom asked them.

“Sure as shit we do,” Samantha replied. She pushed aside a few empty energy drink cans and reached for her keyboard. “This was a hell of a lot more work than I thought.”

“For a huge payoff, I hope?” Dom asked.

“That’s yet to be determined.” Samantha tapped on her keyboard. “After a metric shit-ton of decryption work, this is what we found.”

“A metric shit-ton is a technical term, as Samantha has so kindly informed me,” Thomas said.

Dom frowned at the image that appeared on Samantha’s monitor. “That’s it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Samantha said. “There wasn’t anything else on the SD card.”

“Christ. Let’s get Shepherd on the line.”

“Hold a moment,” Chao said. “We may not have found anything else on the card Dimitri had, but there was something in the lab files.”

“What is it?”

“It ain’t good, that’s for sure,” Thomas said. He crossed his arms over his chest.

The bank of monitors at the front of the room fizzled to life.

“Maybe it’s nothing,” Chao said, “but I noticed this while we were translating the files on the Heikegani Agent.”

A document appeared on the screen, first in a mixture of Russian and Farsi. Then Chao displayed the translated document beside it. Dom scanned the list of laboratory protocols and catalogues of test samples—which he presumed were the Hybrids. But then he saw it, the single line that had undoubtedly piqued Chao’s interest.

“Get Shepherd,” Dom said with more urgency. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. This wasn’t good. Not at all. “Now.”

The line buzzed.

“Shepherd here.”

“This is Dom.”

“Glad to hear from you,” Shepherd said. “There have been some strange developments here.”

Strange? Dom didn’t like that. Strange could mean any number of things. “What’s going on? Are you still making inroads with Kinsey?”

“He hasn’t locked me up again,” Shepherd said. “Not yet, anyway. Kinsey and most of his council seem to be less cynical about us. Now they’re just skeptical.”

“That’s a slight upgrade.”

“I’ll take anything we can get,” Shepherd said. “Divya and Navid have been helping to get Phoenix Compound production running both at the NIH and Fort Detrick facilities. As other pharmaceutical manufacturing plants go online around the US, Kinsey is reaching out to them to extend the operations. It’s going to take a while, but at least they’re making progress.”

“And Matsumoto?”

“That’s what’s strange,” Shepherd said. “He’s in custody. Got round-the-clock medical care, too. Man doesn’t say a word as far as we know. And then, suddenly, he’s decided to start speaking. You know, throughout the whole trek through the woods, I honestly thought we’d be delivering a corpse to Kinsey. But I’ll be damned if Matsumoto didn’t seem to get his wits about him when we reached Andrews. From what I’ve heard, he’s been talking up a storm. Course, I’m no longer allowed to see him, but word gets around.”

Dom thought back to the neurological implant Lauren had extracted from the elderly scientist. “I have a feeling we’re going to be learning a lot more from Matsumoto now that he’s no longer under Spitkovsky’s control. Anything else going on there?”

“Kinsey’s going to want to talk to you again in the near future, guarantee it. What’s this news you’ve got for me?”

“I found out where Dimitri was headed,” Dom said, referencing the image on Samantha’s screen. “We’ve uncovered coordinates in Tel Aviv.”

“What is it? A safe house? Another lab facility?”

“We have no idea. All we have are the numbers.”

“Damn,” Shepherd said. “I’ll run it by Kinsey.”

“There’s one more thing,” Dom said. He studied the incriminating document displayed at the front of the electronics workshop again. “We already determined the Heikegani Agent was being used to turn soldiers into substitutes for the Titans. Imagine humans with the capability of leading Skull armies. Those freighters full of Skulls were going to be just that.”

Dom took a deep breath before continuing. He hated what he had to say next. It made their successful mission seem so trivial. What they thought had been a devastating blow to the FGL was more like a pebble thrown at a brick wall. “Pallets of the Heikegani Agent were synthesized and shipped from that lab to over forty different locations. We don’t know where those locations are because we couldn’t recover anything from their shipping manifests. But there are forty other labs out there, growing their own armies of Hybrids. Spitkovsky has invasion forces stationed around the world. It’s a threat unlike any humanity has ever seen.”

“Good God,” Shepherd said. Silence hung over the line for a moment. “I’ve got to talk to Kinsey right now. We need to mobilize our defenses and prepare some kind of intercept. Captain Holland, we’ll be in touch.”

The line went dead.

In the silence that followed, Matsumoto’s words echoed in Dom’s head. He had thought the man was delirious. But that hadn’t been the case at all. Matsumoto had offered him a warning. Only now, too late, did Dom understand what it had meant.

The shinigami, the gods of death, have only just begun their march on mankind.

The End of Book 6 in The Tide series.

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Thank you for reading The Tide: Dead Ashore! I hope you’re enjoying the Hunters’ adventures as much as I’m enjoying writing them. This series has been a blast to write, and I cannot thank you all enough for following along in the adventure. If you enjoyed this book, would you please leave a review?

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Dom and the Hunters’ journey continues in Book 7, Ghost Fleet available now: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07B7KKV5S

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I love to hear from my readers. If you want to get in touch, there are a number of ways to reach me.

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About the Author

Anthony J Melchiorri is a scientist with a PhD in bioengineering. Originally from the Midwest, he now lives in Texas. By day, he develops cellular therapies and 3D-printable artificial organs. By night, he writes apocalyptic, medical, and science-fiction thrillers that blend real-world research with other-worldly possibility. When he isn't in the lab or at the keyboard, he spends his time running, reading, hiking, and traveling in search of new story ideas.

Read more at http://anthonyjmelchiorri.com and sign up for his mailing list at http://bit.ly/ajmlist to hear about his latest releases and news.