The Tide:

Ghost Fleet

(The Tide Series Volume 7)

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Anthony J Melchiorri

March, 2018

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Books by Anthony J Melchiorri

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-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)

Dead Ashore (Book 6)

Ghost Fleet (Book 7)

Devil to Pay (Book 8)

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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: Ghost Fleet

Copyright © 2018 by Anthony J. Melchiorri. All rights reserved.

First Edition: March 2018

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

-1-

Port of Lisbon, Portugal

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From the bridge of the Huntress, Thomas Hampton pointed at a cargo freighter off the coast of Portugal. The ship was in a sorry state. Its superstructure was pocked with broken windows. Paint chips flaked away to reveal long rivulets of rust snaking down its side.

Thomas wasn’t picky about what kind of ship he sailed on. All that mattered was that he got out to sea. But even he couldn’t imagine sailing on that floating junkyard. Christ, he was surprised the damn thing hadn’t already sunk. Everything about the ship screamed that it should have been scrapped and scuttled years ago.

Despite appearances, that ship’s payload was more frightening than any of the battleships or aircraft the Huntress had contended with before. And in her long tenure as a covert ops ship crafted for stealth missions against biological terrorism and rogue state threats, she had seen a lot.

Thomas glanced at one of the screens on the bridge. It streamed a live view from one of the airborne ScanEagle drones General Kinsey had sent them from the States. The drone only had an effective range of one hundred kilometers, but that was enough to see if any surprises waited for them on the seemingly derelict cargo ship.

“You seeing what I’m seeing?” Chao Li asked. The comms specialist was deep in the belly of the Huntress in the electronics workshop. He and Samantha Hamlin, the other tech wizard on the crew, were controlling the drone from there.

“I see it.” Thomas chewed the end of his unlit cigar. “Not too bad. Not too bad at all.”

A few soldiers patrolled the deck, winding through the stacks of shipping containers. The sight of all those containers wouldn’t have caused Thomas any alarm months ago. Back when the world hadn’t yet gone to shit. He knew better now. The bastards on the ship belonged to the Forces of Global Liberation. The FGL, run by a former Russian bioweapons expert named Pyotr Spitkovsky, were the ones responsible for turning most of the world’s population into monsters.

A chill crept through Thomas as he surveyed the container ship. He knew all too well what would be hidden in all those containers. The stench practically reached through the computer displays. He could almost hear the scratch of claws against metal and the frustrated, inhuman shrieks.

Thomas took the cigar from his lips. “Alpha, you read?”

“Loud and clear,” Dominic Holland, Captain of the Huntress, answered.

“You got the usual half-dead wannabe sea dogs crawling around the decks but nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary except for containers full of Skulls.”

“Yeah, besides that.” Thomas shook his head in disgust. “There are two tug escorts but not a hell of a lot else I can see. This might be the easiest goddamn target we’ve seen yet.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Dom said. There was a beat of silence. Thomas knew the bravado in Dom’s voice hid the anxious thoughts pulsing through his mind. Confidence was all well and good, but a measured bit of paranoia didn’t hurt. Just because this seemed like easy pickings didn’t mean it was, and both of them knew it.

“Godspeed out there, Captain,” Thomas said.

“You take care of my ship while I’m gone,” Dom said. “And it’d be nice if we came away from this mission unscratched. Got it?”

Thomas grinned. Not too long ago, they had been shot at by the US Coast Guard and then later assaulted by FGL helicopters. Over the past few days they’d been hunting cargo ships just like this one. They’d taken abuse from FGL cronies with rocket launchers and other explosives. Thomas liked to say each dent and patch of blistered paint added character. Dom had given him shit for it, but as a lifelong man of the sea, Thomas would be damned if he was caught sailing aboard a vessel in pristine shape. The kind of ship that looked like a show pony instead of something that actually went to sea belonged to billionaires and yachtsmen who sailed from one pretentious port to the next, avoiding anything so contentious as a rainstorm. A real crew commanded a real ship into the great open frontier of the ocean and all the dangers it held.

The Huntress was a real goddamn ship.

After all, a ship in harbor is safe enough, but that’s not what a ship is for, Thomas thought, paraphrasing a favorite quote.

Dom could’ve taken her out to some remote place. He and the crew could have lived their days free from the Oni Agent and the Skulls. But Dom would never be that proverbial ship that rusted away in a safe harbor while the rest of the world burned.

The roar of the chopper’s engine burst through the bridge as the new Seahawk took off with Dom and the other Hunters. Thomas watched the drone’s view as the chopper circled the cargo ship. A predictable couple of RPGs were launched and subsequently avoided. The soldiers who had fired them were summarily taken out by surreptitious shots from the Hunters.

“How we looking?” Dom asked.

“I imagine you look like a bunch of seasick landlubbers with the way Frank is flying that chopper,” Thomas said.

“Hey now, my flying is as clean as your head is bald,” Frank Battaglia, the Huntress’s pilot, shot back.

“I’ll have it noted that I may be balding, but I’m not completely bald yet,” Thomas said. “For once I’m glad to be stuck on the ship while you all go off on one of your adventures.”

“I’m sure you are,” replied Miguel Ruiz over the comms. He was one of the Hunters on Alpha team. “I can already smell those Skulls from up here. Stinks worse than Spencer’s jockstrap on a hot summer day.”

“Bro, why are you smelling my jockstrap?” Spencer Barrett replied. “I didn’t think we were that close.”

“You all know you don’t need to be having this conversation over the public channel, don’t you?” Thomas asked.

“Be glad you can get away from them,” Jenna Reed, a member of Bravo team, said over the comms. “I’m stuck on this damn bird with these children.”

“Not for long,” Meredith Webb added. “Bravo will see you boys later.”

Thomas watched Bravo team rappel out of the helicopter and slide down the cord to the deck. Meredith went first, followed by Jenna and Andris Jansons. Thomas said a short prayer for them. He wasn’t a religious man, but when you were at the mercy of the ocean and whatever it held, you prayed to any damn god that might listen.

Truth was, as much as Thomas pretended that he longed to get off the ship and join them on a mission, he knew in his bones that wasn’t the truth. Quite literally, his joints were sore with what he feared might be burgeoning arthritis. The bullet wound in his shoulder still prevented him from a full range of motion, and his muscles burned when he moved his left arm too much.

He was, in short, old.

Once he might’ve been a first-class destroyer, but now he looked and felt little better than the decrepit ship the Hunters were boarding.

And a ship like that didn’t stand a chance against the apocalypse.

Thomas hoped it didn’t stand a chance against the Hunters, either.

***

Dom hit the deck. Bravo team had already disappeared below. Andris would place explosives to disable the ship’s engines. A few more holes in this rust bucket’s hull should send the ship and all its cargo to the bottom of the Atlantic.

“Miguel, on point,” Dom commanded. Miguel charged ahead to the nearest stack of containers. An FGL soldier came around a corner with an AK cradled in his arms. Miguel took him out before the soldier could so much as think about shooting. “Glenn, take rearguard.”

Glenn Walsh, a former Green Beret, fell in behind Dom and Spencer. The SCAR-H rifle he carried looked almost comically small against his large frame.

There was a clunk behind Dom on the deck. The newest member of the Hunters had rappelled down.

Brendon O’Neil. The man had been a prisoner of the FGL in Morocco—more than a prisoner; he had been an experimental test subject. Beneath his black fatigues were bone plates. His fingers ended in blunted claws, and his face was a skeletal mask. But behind the deformity was a cold intelligence. He was a Hybrid. A man with the body of a Skull and the mind of a human. In fact, the mind of a Navy SEAL.

The FGL had created a process to impart the physical changes of the Oni Agent to a human while preserving the person’s intellectual capacity. They nicknamed the new compound the Heikegani Agent. Hybrids like O’Neil could control the mindless Skull foot soldiers, and Spitkovsky planned to use this monstrous army to demolish what was left of the world.

O’Neil’s nostrils flared. “They’re coming. Two of them.”

Sure enough, two FGL Hybrids scuttled over the top of a stack of containers. Each wore mottled gray fatigues. Their eyes burned beneath masks of calcified spikes. Their clawlike fingers tapped against their rifles as they let loose a barrage of bullets. Dom dove for cover then provided a wave of suppressing fire. The Hybrids ducked back just as Miguel and Glenn joined in the salvo. None of the Hunters managed to land a shot.

But they didn’t have to. O’Neil scaled the containers, and a moment later, both enemy Hybrids came crashing down. Their bone plates cracked against the deck. O’Neil stood atop the stack, victorious.

“Three more coming from the stern,” he said. “The rest are perched in the bridge.”

The Hybrids ran headlong into the lancing gunfire of the Hunters. As one lay dying, he looked up at O’Neil as though he felt betrayed. The Hybrid’s fingers reached for the rifle lying at his side. Dom sent two bullets into his chest and another into his head. More bone plates fractured, and a pool of crimson formed under the Hybrid’s still form.

“To the bridge!” Dom yelled.

They rushed up the ladders along the superstructure. Miguel positioned himself near the hatch and placed a small breaching explosive. Spencer and Dom waited behind cover, rifles ready to go. Dom motioned for the group to hold their location.

“O’Neil, you in position?” Dom asked over the comms.

“Aye, Captain,” the Hybrid said from his concealed location.

Dom chinned his comm link again. “Bravo, sitrep?”

“Explosives are ready,” Andris Jansons replied, his Latvian accent thick with excitement at the prospect of blowing something up. “We are back on deck and ready for pickup.”

“Copy that,” Frank said. “BA coming in for our scheduled departure. ETA five minutes.”

“BA? British Airways?” O’Neil asked.

“Badass Airlines,” Frank corrected. “Operated by me, the badass supreme.”

“Should’ve never asked,” Miguel muttered.

Dom glanced at the hatch. A face peered out of one of the cracked windows of the bridge, searching for them. The waiting was undoubtedly making them nervous. Exactly how Dom wanted them.

“All right, we’re almost back in the game,” Dom said. “Spitkovsky’s boys are probably pissing their pants already.”

“It’s true,” Miguel said. “I can smell it.”

“Sure that isn’t you?” Glenn asked.

Miguel patted his pants. “Still dry.”

The roar of a helicopter burst over the deck as Frank drew near Bravo team’s position. Dom waited for them to board the chopper.

“No drink service today,” Frank said, “but I hear we’re being treated to some fireworks.”

The helicopter took Bravo team higher, safely out of range of the next stage of their mission.

“You heard him,” Dom said. “Let’s begin the fireworks.”

“Aye, Chief.” Miguel detonated the breaching charge. The hatch burst inward, and tendrils of smoke snaked off the busted hinges.

Bullets exploded from the opening. The FGL soldiers were firing in panicked bursts, and Dom signaled the rest of Alpha team to stay put. Then, on the other side of the bridge, a glass window burst into daggerlike shards. A shape rolled over the broken glass and fired into the exposed backs of the FGL crew members.

The gunfire ceased, and O’Neil stood alone on the bridge.

Miguel strode toward the Hybrid and patted the man’s shoulder. “Love having a human wrecking ball on our team.”

“Half-human,” O’Neil said, brushing fragments of glass off his bone plates. The organic armor protected him from the cutting edges that would have shredded a normal human’s skin like they’d been put through a garbage disposal.

Dom nodded toward the fresh corpses. There were two humans and three Hybrids. “Check their pockets.” He strode to one of the computers and plugged data transmission devices into every available port he could find. “Samantha, Chao, your turn.”

“We’re on it, Captain,” Chao replied. “Coming in hot.”

They guarded the hatches and windows while the techs worked remotely. Dom had raided ship after ship like this, working with General Kinsey and the others back in the States trying to stop Spitkovsky’s planned invasion. He hoped that they’d catch a break today. They needed more intel to lead them to the brains of Spitkovsky’s operations, or at least something to give them insight into where he planned to land all these freighters full of Skulls. But so far they’d found precious little.

It seemed most of the available intel was stored in the minds of the Hybrids running the show. And the Hybrids had all chosen to fight and die rather than surrender. Capturing one alive was like trying to hold water between your fingers.

O’Neil’s eyes suddenly went wide. “We got a problem.” He stared out toward the bow. Besides having the limited ability to control Skulls, Hybrids were also hyper-tuned to detect the Skulls’ biochemical signals, almost like an animal sensing fear in a human.

“You got something?” Dom asked.

“Skulls are riled up. I think—”

There was a metallic crash as several of the containers tore open at the opposite end of the ship. A rush of bony figures poured out. Skulls.

“How is the data dump coming along?” Dom asked over the comms.

“Looks like our programs are still scavenging,” Samantha replied.

The Skulls were moving between the stacks of containers. As they ran, the tap of their claws on the deck grew louder. Their voices carried up in a relentless cacophony. Other containers shook as the Skulls within them responded to the loosed ones.

“How long is that going to take?” Dom asked.

“Hard to say,” Chao said.

“Not going to happen then.” Dom started pulling the transmitters out. “We’ve got to get the hell off this ship. Frank?”

“Good news, ladies and gentlemen. We’re taking off early today.” Frank lowered the chopper toward the bridge. The tide of Skulls grew as more containers opened.

“How in the hell did this happen?” Glenn asked.

O’Neil lowered his eyes. “There was another Hybrid. I missed him. Thought I was just getting a read on the Skulls.”

A rope ladder clunked onto the platform outside the bridge.

“Load up, now!” Dom bellowed. Miguel and O’Neil went up first, climbing like spiders. Glenn and Spencer followed, with Dom taking the rear. Right as the chopper began to lift, the Hybrid who’d been hiding appeared atop the nearest stack of containers.

Meredith fired on him from the open door of the Seahawk. Bullets sparked against metal. The Hybrid dodged, leapt to the superstructure, then bounded for the ladder. His claws wrapped around the bottom rung.

“No you don’t, you son of a bitch,” Dom said as the Hybrid scrabbled for purchase. With his rifle still strapped across his back and one arm latched around a rung, he pulled his HK45 compact pistol from its holster. The Hybrid got both hands around the rung and pulled himself up, hissing at Dom.

Three shots.

Three holes in the Hybrid’s face.

The half-man, half-Skull fell, his body cartwheeling through the air. He hit the surface with a frothy splash and then disappeared. Hordes of Skulls were now loose on the ship, running around with no particular direction or target.

“Time to say goodbye,” Dom said as he climbed aboard the chopper. “Andris?”

“With pleasure.” Andris depressed his remote detonator.

A deep roar exploded from the stern of the ship. Metal tore outward, spilling shrapnel and smoke. Tongues of fire leapt through the hole and burst out of the superstructure. Frank hummed “Stars and Stripes Forever” over the chopper’s comms as the Seahawk climbed into the sky. A second series of explosions took hold as the engines failed. The hull groaned and shrieked. Skulls spilled into the ocean, sinking under the weight of their dense bony armor. The freighter’s bow pointed skyward, and the Atlantic swallowed the ship.

“One more ship full of Skulls that won’t be bothering anyone,” Dom said. “Good work.”

Miguel wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “How many more of these do we have to sink?”

“I think the answer’s somewhere between a ‘crap ton’ and a ‘shit ton.’” Glenn looked at Dom. “Am I far off, Captain?”

“What, you don’t enjoy the smell of burnt Skull in the morning?” Dom asked, but the smile was already slipping from his face.

They had succeeded once again. Another freighter, another piece of the FGL’s plan to conquer the surviving pieces of the world sent to the bottom of the ocean. And though they felt victorious now, Dom had learned not underestimate Pyotr Spitkovsky or the FGL. Soon enough the FGL would prove Dom right.

He just didn’t realize how soon it would be.

-2-

Torsten Nilsson stood on the bridge of what may have been the last ship in the Swedish Royal Navy. He was the officer of the watch on the HSwMS Karlstad, a Visby-class corvette designed for its stealthy profile. The ship gave off only a minimal infrared signature and a limited radar cross-section, making it near undetectable. Six months ago, the ship had been coasting the Arabian Sea for a multinational anti-submarine drill.

But that drill had quickly turned to horror as the ships involved rapidly lost contact with their respective home ports across the globe.

Rumors spread from an American ship that the outbreak had been caused by something called the Oni Agent. Only a few pictures of the monsters and their destruction had been transmitted to the ship before the rest of the world went dark. When Torsten felt particularly morose, he reviewed those images of cities burning and shadows coming alive with the twisted forms of skeletal beings that had supposedly once been human. The scenes looked like they’d been torn from a grisly horror film, the likes of which Torsten had no taste for.

Harsh winds howled over the ship as they sailed northward along the coast of Africa. Torsten felt like a beaten dog returning home. If the images were any indication of what he would find in Sweden, he thought maybe it would be best if they just stayed at sea. At least on the ocean they were safe from the monsters.

He clenched his jaw, ashamed at the thought. Yes, he was safe, but that shouldn’t have been his concern. Captain Lundgren had set the course to Stockholm to see what aid they could offer. But with only a handful of rifles among them and limited ammunition, Torsten wondered what exactly Lundgren hoped to accomplish.

Torsten supposed that this was the noble thing to do. He hated himself for not liking the idea, but what should he feel? Should he look forward to facing those things on the shore?

Get ahold of yourself, man, Torsten thought. You are better than this.

He took a long, slow sip of coffee and then set the cup down atop one of the banks of monitors. Alone on the night shift, the brilliance of the star-littered sky was his only company. All the monitors hummed softly.

Then there was a chirp.

Torsten straightened, peering at the radar screen. There, fifty klicks off port and less than a hundred from the Karlstad, was a small vessel. It seemed to be headed their direction.

That in and of itself was not entirely alarming. They had run into all manner of other vessels—civilian and military alike—especially this close to the coastline. Many people had sought refuge on the seas when the outbreak spread.

This one might be more of the same. Except most of the ships that had spotted the Karlstad had done so in the day. And they’d been much closer. Only a few klicks away. How in the hell had a vessel—especially one that seemed no bigger than a luxury yacht—caught the state-of-the-art stealth ship in the middle of the night?

Something was not right.

Maybe it was just a coincidence. Another yacht and its crew that had thought they could weather the storm of the apocalypse at sea. The Karlstad just happened to be crossing this yacht’s path. Still, maybe he should call the captain. The man would be grumpy if this turned out to be nothing. But Lundgren was always grumpy, and Torsten would rather be paranoid than dead.

He picked up a handset and called Lundgren’s cabin. It took several rings before the captain answered. His voice was gruff and scratchy, still caught somewhere in the haziness of sleep. “What is it?”

“Captain,” Torsten said, “there is a vessel, approximately fifteen meters in length, headed our way.”

“Civilian or military?”

“I don’t know yet,” Torsten said. “It’s almost one hundred klicks out, but it’s set to intersect our path in under two hours.”

“How’d we miss it until it was this close?”

“I do not know,” Torsten admitted.

“You were sleeping on the job.”

“No!” Torsten said, maybe a bit too forcefully. “I have been awake the entire time, Captain.”

“Not likely. I’m coming up there.”

At least it seemed Torsten had made the right call. If the captain dragged himself out of bed, he thought it was important. A few minutes later, Lundgren joined him in a loose-fitting T-shirt and sweatpants.

Lundgren peered over the radar. “Turn us hard-a-port and continue full ahead.”

“Aye, Captain.” Torsten twisted the helm. The projected path of the Karlstad adjusted accordingly on his monitor. “New heading acquired.”

They both stared at the radar. The mystery vessel continued on its path, and Torsten let out a breath. Maybe this had been a mistake after all. They watched for several long minutes, the radar blinking.

“Looks like nothing,” Lundgren said. “I’m going—”

The craft began to adjust its course. Again, it would intersect with the Karlstad.

“We have not received any hails?” Lundgren asked.

Torsten shook his head.

Lundgren took up a handset. He tried a hailing channel on VHF. “Unidentified vessel, this is the HSwMS Karlstad. Please identify yourself.”

Nothing.

The captain tried various emergency channels, and still the vessel did not respond, nor did it put out any hails of its own. It merely continued sailing ever closer.

“Alert the crew,” Lundgren said. “All hands to battle stations.”

A pit formed at the bottom of Torsten’s stomach. He twisted on the alarms and spoke into the handset. “All hands to battle stations. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill.”

The smaller vessel drew closer, and still it did not respond. No radio calls, no flares.

“This is very odd,” Torsten said.

“Odd indeed,” Lundgren said. “Fire a warning shot with the fifty-seven-millimeter.”

A moment later, the cannon burst to life. Torsten watched through a night-vision scope as the round exploded into the water off the bow of the craft, yet still it continued forward. But now, it weaved erratically, deliberately engaging in an ordinance-avoidance course. As the vessel at last loomed into view, it seemed to be nothing more than a rather swift civilian yacht. There were no cannons or rocket launchers.

It didn’t make sense.

“They must be pirates,” Lundgren said. “Fire another round.”

Torsten relayed the order. The yacht curved abruptly as the shot pierced the ocean’s surface. A geyser of water flared, but the yacht remained unharmed and unfazed.

“Get everyone armed,” Lundgren ordered. “They are going to try boarding. That can be the only explanation.”

Torsten’s nerves lit up like a summer lightning storm over Stockholm. He had never seen a civilian craft operate with such precision, especially against a military vessel like theirs. And somehow, the damn thing had evaded their targeting systems. These weren’t just a few vagabonds looking to score a larger ship.

Lundgren’s words were soon proven right. Half a dozen sailors, including Torsten and the captain, positioned themselves along the gunwale of the Karlstad with AK5C rifles. Torsten felt a strange sense of security with the weapon, but he still didn’t like it. If the captain was forced to take up arms, then the ship was already lost.

“Open fire,” Lundgren said as the yacht zoomed up to the Karlstad.

Bullets ricocheted across the hull of the smaller ship and cracked against the glass covering its helm. But no one fired back.

What was this? Some kind of ghost ship?

Then Torsten saw movement. A shape exploded from one of the yacht’s hatches. He had trouble understanding what he was seeing at first. It looked like a person had shot up from the open hatch, jumping inhumanly high.

A couple of seamen opened fire. But the enemy was too quick. He was already on the deck and had leveled the nearest sailors with a barrage of fire. More figures followed, each leaping like oversized frogs.

The invaders made quick work of the deck crew. Lundgren grabbed a handset and sent out a distress signal. Torsten doubted anyone would respond. And if they did, it certainly wouldn’t be in time. The remnants of the crew were firing desperately to save the ship. Gunfire rang out all across the deck, followed by screams of agony.

Then, silence.

Torsten’s heart raced.

Lundgren shouldered his rifle. “Do you see anything?”

Torsten peered out over the deck. The knot in his gut tightened. “Just our men. Dead. All of them dead.”

“What about the boarders?”

There was no movement except for the waves slapping the hull of the Karlstad. Where had the enemy gone? They hit hard and then disappeared like shadows in the night.

Glass exploded behind Torsten. He twisted in time to see a shape burst through one of the windows and barrel into Lundgren. The captain went down in a spate of gunfire.

The soldier that had taken Lundgren down reared back. A wicked grin cut across his face. The man was unlike any Torsten had ever seen. His eyes were bloodshot and red. His teeth ended in points, and his cheekbones jutted out, bony protuberances piercing his skin. His fingers ended in claws that looked every bit as terrifying as a tiger’s.

Torsten had seen the images of what the Oni Agent did to humans. He’d heard stories about them. They were mindless monsters with no shred of humanity left. But what stood before him now was no dumb abomination. This monster carried a rifle and wore fatigues like a spec ops operator.

Lundgren reached for his rifle. Blood trickled across the gashes in his forehead, but he wasn’t dead. His fingers twitched around the stock, and he pulled the weapon toward himself.

The monster-soldier laughed. He said something in what sounded like Russian as he placed a taloned foot on Lundgren’s wrist. Then he lowered one of his clawed fingers to Lundgren’s neck. He ripped through the skin, leaving behind a gaping mass of throbbing red. Lundgren choked and gurgled as the Russian monster-soldier stared at him with an amused expression.

Another monster-soldier barged in through the broken window. While the other watched Lundgren die, this one headed toward Torsten. The soldier didn’t raise his rifle, nor did he come at Torsten with any particular urgency.

Torsten shook himself from his shock. He raised his weapon and fired. Bullets cut through the monster-soldier’s fatigues, and he staggered, wincing. But then he continued onward as if it had been nothing more than a strong wind.

“What in the...?” Torsten squeezed the trigger again.

This time the soldier ducked under his aim and slammed into Torsten’s chest. Air rushed from his lungs. Pain radiated deep in his chest. His head cracked against the bulkhead, and his vision blurred. A foot pressed against his agonized ribs, and a demonic face leered down at him.

Footsteps announced the entrance of someone else on the bridge, and the pressure was suddenly relieved.

“Is he the only one left?” the newcomer asked. The man spoke English with an accent. Iranian or something like it.

“Da,” the soldier holding Torsten answered in Russian. Then he switched to broken English. “Not many men on ship. Pathetic.”

“Pathetic or not,” the Iranian said, “this one may be useful.”

The soldier hoisted Torsten up by his collar. Before him stood a man who appeared to be in his sixties. A thin mustache lined his upper lip, and creases sprouted from his eyes and across his forehead. His skin looked weathered by the sea and sun. He carried himself with a clear air of authority.

Did this man control the Russian monsters? It seemed that way, but it made no sense. Then again, neither did half the things Torsten had seen and heard since the outbreak.

“What do you want?” Torsten asked in English, his voice coming out shakier than he had intended.

“Ah, good, you can still speak,” the Iranian said, leaning toward Torsten. “How much do you know about this ship?”

Torsten didn’t reply. How much information should he give this man? Did it even matter now? If he was the last man standing from his crew—perhaps even the last sailor in the Swedish Navy—then why bother resisting?

The soldier stabbed a claw into Torsten’s side and twisted. Pain scorched through his flesh. He wanted to shrivel up and die, to be relieved of this once and for all. His teeth ground together until the man finally stopped.

“I’ll ask you again,” the Iranian said. “How much do you know about this ship?”

“I’m the officer of the watch,” Torsten said. “I know... quite a bit.”

“Good. This is a stealth ship. Is this the only one?”

“No, it isn’t,” Torsten said.

“There were others.”

Torsten nodded. Where was this interrogation going?

“One ship was canceled,” the Iranian said. “A Visby-class corvette that never made it into your navy.”

“I was not aware.”

“Then maybe you will not be so useful after all.” The Iranian stepped closer, his eyes narrowed. “There is a man by the name of Dominic Holland who sails on a vessel just like this. I would quite like to get my hands on him and his ship. He must be stopped. You understand? Are these ships connected in any way—any type of secured frequency, installed tracking devices, anything that may lead me to him?”

Torsten shook his head. “No, no. These vessels were designed to be ghosts. They were never meant to be tracked. We’re only found if we want to be found.”

The Iranian smiled. “Then I suppose it is a good thing we found you. Maybe you are not so invisible as you thought.”

Torsten swallowed hard. How had this man tracked them down?

And then he realized what had happened. Lundgren’s constant efforts to help civilians and other military ships, the incessant and open communications they’d been transmitting. It all had gone against every covert regulation. They hadn’t thought stealth was important anymore.

An old American adage floated through Torsten’s mind: No good deed goes unpunished.

“More questions?” the Russian asked.

“No,” the Iranian said. “Dispose of him.”

A loud rip sounded, followed by a wave of unbridled pain. Torsten looked down to see his stomach torn open like a glinting red smile. The monster-soldier let go of him and wiped his bloodied claw on Torsten’s shirt. Unbearable agony sent Torsten writhing on the deck.

“Then transfer everything to the Karlstad,” the Iranian said. “We set sail at once.”

“And the corpses?” the Russian asked.

“Dispose of them.”

“With pleasure.”

By the glint in the Russian’s eyes and the way his teeth gnashed together, Torsten couldn’t tell if that meant throwing the bodies overboard—or something far grislier.

-3-

Meredith traced her finger down Dom’s chest. It was scarred and bruised—injuries both old and new. They represented the history of their missions together, ranging from their days in the CIA to their most recent adventures combating the relentless terror that was the Oni Agent. She pressed her body against his, grateful to have a few minutes alone with him in his cabin.

Finding moments like this had been difficult, not solely because of the intense demands on their time trying to help save the world but also due to the psychological burden of guilt. Maybe they could be doing something more to help others; maybe they were being selfish by stealing some time for themselves when others were dying.

But they were only human. Pushing themselves onward relentlessly, facing a relentless onslaught of horrors... well, it couldn’t be good for them. Their bodies and minds needed time to unravel all that they’d dealt with, from fighting Skulls to losing close friends and family. Meredith hoped that these moments shared with Dom would be enough to keep her sane.

Still, business was never far from their thoughts.

“Another victory, but it still doesn’t feel right,” Dom said, propping himself up on his elbows. The sheet slipped down his exposed chest, revealing a set of abs every bit as beaten up as the rest of him. “I can’t shake the feeling that we’re just playing catch up with Spitkovsky.”

Meredith sat upright in the berth and sighed. “You know, I was having such a nice evening, and then you had to go and ruin it by talking about work.” She gave his ear a playful flick.

“You going to tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing?”

Meredith didn’t reward him with a response. Their minds were in sync after serving in the CIA for so long, albeit through different mechanisms. Before they’d become romantically involved, they’d been partners for decades.

Dom pulled her close to him. “I feel like all we’re doing is scrambling around the field running interference without a chance to score a touchdown of our own.”

“You want a turn to play offense.”

“I do.”

“I get it.” Meredith rested a finger on one of the scars on Dom’s shoulder. “Even though we are taking out these freighters left and right, we’re still playing defense. And as long as we’re playing defense, Spitkovsky and the FGL are out there making their moves.”

“Right,” Dom said. “We know they’re working on new variants of the Oni Agent, but we have no idea when they’ll be released. We’re just trying to recover from the last round. Fort Detrick is operational again, as is the National Institutes of Health, and a few pharmaceutical plants outside DC are cranking out the Phoenix Compound.”

“And that’s all great. But it’s reactive, not proactive,” Meredith finished for him. “Your whole career—my whole career—has been spent tackling threats before anyone in the US even knew they should be scared. This is a new thing for us.”

“I want to be back on the attack.”

Meredith knew that look well. There was a flame fanning to life in Dom’s eyes.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve talked about this today, is it?” she asked.

“No, I spoke with Kinsey before you distracted me.”

“That’s all I am? A distraction?” Meredith feigned hurt.

“The very best distraction.” Dom’s good humor faded. “The good news is that Divya and Navid helped them tremendously in getting the initial production runs of the Phoenix Compound up and running. Truth be told, I’m glad Kinsey didn’t need them for that long.”

“I know it makes you feel better to have a full medical and scientific complement aboard the ship.”

“It does,” Dom said. “But that’s beside the point. From what I gathered, Kinsey is lacking intel on Spitkovsky and the FGL. He doesn’t have much more beyond what we gave them. We might be the only real link the US has to the FGL right now.”

“That’s pretty damn frightening.”

“It is,” Dom said. “I talked to him again about a mission to Baghdad. It seems like the joint comm center there between Iraq, Iran, and Russia was a major node in the FGL’s operations.”

The flames in Dom’s eyes grew brighter.

“It’d be foolish of us to charge in there alone,” Meredith said. “The Congo labs were bad. Tangier wasn’t much better. Whatever the hell Spitkovsky has going on in Baghdad’s got to be worse. Going in there alone, with no intel? That’s suicide.”

“That’s what Kinsey said.”

“Figured.” Meredith’s stomach rumbled. “Time to eat.”

Dom drew her in for one more kiss before letting her go. She stood and stretched then rummaged around for her clothes.

“I hope he’s at least taking our intel seriously,” Meredith said as she shrugged on a shirt.

“He seems to be. At least, that’s what he said. But you know how much credit I give anything that man says. He might be doing what he thinks is best for the country, but he still took my ship from me.”

“Won’t argue that point.”

Meredith looked around the floor of the cabin, searching for her shoe. She spotted it under the desk and dove for it. Dom climbed out of the berth and started putting on his clothes. Meredith watched him for a moment, appreciating the view, before sitting down and putting on her boots.

“The general promises they’re doing something about Baghdad,” Dom said. “They’re reestablishing forward operating bases in the Middle East. Or at least, they’re planning to. He recognizes the threat, but I think the Skulls on American soil are still giving him more problems than he can handle. He’s having trouble mustering the forces and resources for any kind of offensive action.”

Meredith smoothed what was left of her red hair and paused before opening the hatch. “I know you’re itching to go to Baghdad, but as much as I hate to say it, Kinsey is probably right to take this slow.” She held up a hand to silence Dom before he could protest. “You want to find Spitkovsky while he’s still got his pants down, but the worst thing we could do is rush in and find ourselves in a hole too deep to climb out of. We’ve been flying by the seat of our pants this whole time, and eventually that’s going to come back to bite us.”

“Any more clichés or metaphors you want to throw in there?”

Meredith raised a brow. “But you get my point?”

“It’s abundantly clear. I’ll be as cautious as Kinsey... for now. Every time we’ve boarded those freighters, we’ve tried to find some new data—maps, computer files, anything—and we’ve come away with more questions. Eventually, that’ll change. And when it does, when we finally get a solid lead on what Spitkovsky is up to or where he is, I’m not waiting for Kinsey to give me the go-ahead.”

That worried Meredith. They’d worked their asses off to get back on Kinsey’s—and by association, the United States’—good side. Acting on a unilateral basis was sure to rankle the old general. And it might just get them killed.

***

Lauren welcomed the sterile smell of the Huntress’s medical bay. There was a time when she associated the odor with hospitals and the big labs of the CDC. All of that was a former life. Now, even with the best air scrubbers and filtration systems, there was something different about the lab and medical bay aboard the ship. The space was much smaller than her old lab. And even though the equipment was cutting edge, it was limited. She didn’t have the full-scale medical imaging suite that was standard at most decent hospitals, nor did she have the massive cell culture and multistage fermentation systems that a serious pharmaceutical manufacturing facility did.

But at least they had a hell of a team to make up for what they lacked in infrastructure. Divya Karnak and Sean McConnelly were bent over lab samples under a cell culture hood. Peter Mikos, chief surgeon, inventoried the fresh supplies Divya had brought back along with Navid Ghasemi, the newest and youngest scientist on the team. After Divya and Navid’s brief stint in the United States, the reestablished US Joint Forces Command under General Kinsey had authorized the resupply of the Huntress.

Fortunately, the patient beds in the bay were empty. Only one of the Hunters was still seriously injured and in need of care. During an attack on the Huntress, Terrence Connor had lost both legs. One of the downsides to the technical limitations of the ship’s med bay was that they couldn’t provide the prosthetics and physical rehabilitation Terrence needed to quite literally get back on his feet. He’d been pissed to be left behind Stateside, begging her to let him join the fight again, but without prosthetics he’d be stuck in the bay with nothing to do. Colonel Jacob Shepherd, a close ally of Dom’s at Fort Detrick, had insisted Terrence stay with him and offered the man a job defending the base against Skulls—even if he had to do it from a wheelchair. Terrence had gratefully accepted the role.

Now the only patient Lauren had to deal with on a regular basis was, to put it nicely, unconventional. The hatch to the bay opened, and there stood a man who looked like an advanced victim of the Oni Agent. His bone plates rattled as he slumped onto one of the patient beds. Between the bone plates, vessels bulged and coursed. The only difference was that his flesh appeared more on the peach side than the pallid gray of the Skulls.

“Ready for my checkup, Doc,” O’Neil said.

“How are you feeling?” Lauren asked, taking his pulse.

“Like the graveyard took a shit, and I’m what came out.”

Lauren merely nodded. She still wasn’t sure how to deal with O’Neil’s morbid sense of humor. It went against every instinct to be this close to something with claws and a face like his. But her call to duty was stronger. She prepared a cocktail of painkillers in a syringe.

“Let’s make that a little easier, shall we?” She slid the needle between two of his arm-plates. It bit into one of those bulging vessels, and she depressed the plunger.

O’Neil’s harsh expression visibly softened as the drugs coursed through his veins. His eyes closed, and he took a deep breath. “Goddamn, I can see how people get addicted to this shit.”

“Exactly why we need to keep a close eye on things.”

“Keep as close an eye as you want as long as you keep me drugged up like that.” O’Neil locked his gaze with hers. “I can still feel my bones churning under my skin. It’s like they’re constantly growing and pushing out new plates and spurs.”

“I will help you,” Lauren said. “That’s my promise.”

O’Neil rolled his shoulders and flexed his claws as if that helped to spread the painkillers through his inflamed tissues. “That all you got for me today?”

Lauren was about to say yes, but she had something else on her mind. O’Neil might’ve been an experimental version of a Hybrid, but he still possessed many of the biological traits of the Hybrids the FGL employed.

Since the beginning of the outbreak, there was one thing constantly on Lauren’s mind: how to protect the Hunters from the Oni Agent. Her team had developed some preventative measures that eventually led them to a more concrete cure in the Phoenix Compound. But even if she could prevent them from becoming infected, that didn’t stop a Skull’s claw from gutting them. Skulls went wild at any kind of stimuli, especially the scent of blood. So far the only way the Hunters could deal with Skulls was to avoid them or shoot them.

But Hybrids had unbelievable abilities. Besides the enhanced agility and strength provided by their altered physiology, they also produced a mix of aerosolized biochemicals that seemed to affect Skulls. O’Neil and his experimental Hybrid comrades had been able to calm or rile up the Skulls back in Morocco. If Lauren could find some way to harness those capabilities, the field teams might be able to quell the tide of Skulls.

“Is something wrong?” O’Neil asked at Lauren’s silence.

“No. I mean, nothing outside the obvious. It’s just...” She paused to collect her thoughts. “We made a promise that we wouldn’t experiment on you. We wouldn’t subject you to any tests like the FGL did, and we wouldn’t give you up to the US government to poke and prod. I meant it when I said that.”

“I don’t think I like where this is going.”

“I don’t want to force you to do anything. Especially not anything painful,” Lauren continued. “But understanding how your body controls Skulls would be tremendously beneficial to us and everyone else fighting them.”

“So you want me to volunteer my body up for your inspection, huh?”

Lauren swallowed hard. “I do.”

O’Neil’s eyes burned brighter, redder—a dangerous heat that was quickly spreading through O’Neil’s features.

Lauren held up her hands and continued. “I get it. I really do. You’ve gone through enough, but if I could just get a couple small biopsies—very quick, easy procedures—we could do so much with that.”

“My answer has and always will be no.” O’Neil pointed a clawed hand toward the hatch. “I’ll serve in the field until I die, but I’ll never serve on the operating table again.”

“It’s—”

“No!” O’Neil roared. “I want painkillers and nothing else.” He stormed out of the med bay.

Peter looked up from a box of syringes. “Your bedside manner is getting a little rusty, Dr. Winters.”

“Can it,” Lauren said.

“I agree with you,” Peter said. “A sample of his adrenal or apocrine glands would be an enormous boon to our work. It’s like we’re sitting on a goldmine, but we don’t have the license to mine it.”

“Except that this gold could change the course of this war as we know it,” Lauren said. “Sometimes I hate that we have a code of ethics.”

“Didn’t expect to hear you say that.”

Lauren sighed. “I don’t really mean it. I wouldn’t do something without a patient’s consent, and I certainly wouldn’t turn someone into a lab experiment. We’re better than Matsumoto and his Unit 731. We’re better than the FGL. But damn it all if being better doesn’t hold us back.”

Peter paused and then said, “O’Neil may warrant bending our ethics.”

“No,” Lauren said. “We can’t do that. We can’t start making excuses for our actions until we end up developing our own Hybrids and Skulls.”

“Then you’re going to leave O’Neil alone?”

“Of course not.” Lauren couldn’t leave a scientific mystery like that untapped. Especially if it could help save the lives of all those around her. “I will convince him. I’ll do this the right way. And, mark my words, we will use science to stop the FGL.”

-4-

Dublin, Ireland

––––––––

Under a gray sky that threatened icy rain, Dom strode down the gangplank to the pier. Meredith walked beside him. All around, ferries that had once transported people from Dublin to elsewhere around Europe were alive with activity. But it wasn’t the same activity that had kept the port busy before the rise of the Oni Agent. Irish Defense Forces were marching onto ships and boats, loading them with cargo. Orders and shouts blasted between dockworkers, and guards peered over barbed-wire-lined walls toward the rest of the Skull-infested city of Dublin.

The Irish Defense Forces had reestablished a safe zone at the port. The IDF was also launching rescue missions around the Emerald Isle and to surrounding countries within their reach. It would be a damn shame to lose a group like this. It was rare enough to find an organized, government-supported military unit that had gained a foothold in the increasingly danger-steeped world. But this was where Kinsey had warned Dom the FGL would attack next. According to the communications the general’s team had intercepted, a strike group of four container ships filled to the brim with Skulls, Goliaths, and Droolers was on the way.

Dom wasn’t certain he and his crew could eliminate them all in time to save Dublin. They needed to work with the Irish.

At the end of the gangplank stood a man in an olive-green coat flanked by a cadre of men with rifles.

“Damn fine weather to roll into harbor,” the colonel said with a grin. “Welcome to a sunny day in Ireland.”

“Any day the first person to greet me isn’t a Skull counts as a damn fine day in my book.” Dom extended a hand. “Captain Dominic Holland.”

“Lieutenant Colonel John Buckley. At least, that’s what I was before this mess started. It’s anybody’s guess where I’ll end up in the official records. Suffice to say, most of my predecessors have succumbed to our bloody skeletal friends, and somehow I’m the one left in charge.”

“I hear you, brother,” Dom said. “This is Meredith Webb. Former intelligence officer now working with me on the Huntress.”

“Kinsey warned me about you,” Buckley said with narrowed eyes. Dom must’ve let his worry bleed into his expression because Buckley chuckled. “It’d be a bloody shame if I believed every word coming out of every American’s mouth I ever met. You’re a serious lot, but you can be more paranoid than my Auntie Margaret. She ran off and joined a convent. The old lady always harped about the coming apocalypse. Suppose she was right in the end.”

Meredith traded a look with Dom. “I can assure you that whatever you’ve heard—” she began.

The lieutenant colonel waved his hand dismissively at her assurances. “Don’t be worrying about it. Kinsey told me not to let down my guard around you two, but I’m also not the type to turn down help when it’s needed and offered. Any crew brave enough to sail around the world fighting those monsters deserves the benefit of the doubt in my book.”

“And that’s all we’re here to do,” Dom said.

“Then we have no time to waste,” Buckley said. “Shall we?”

“One more person will be joining us,” Meredith said. “But I’m warning you, he’s not your average foot soldier.”

“No such thing as an average foot soldier,” Buckley said.

“O’Neil looks like a Skull, but he’s not dangerous,” Dom said. “He’s on our side.”

Buckley blinked several times before regaining his jovial good humor. “Get him down here, and we’ll be on our way.”

Dom called O’Neil down over the comm link. As the Hybrid marched down the ramp, a few of Buckley’s guards stepped in front of him. Their fingers tightened around their rifles, and one began to aim at O’Neil before Buckley put his hand up. Dom understood their reaction. O’Neil’s mask of bone and his scything claws still made him uneasy, and he’d had time to get used to the Hybrid.

“Rifles down, boys,” Buckley said. “You heard the captain. This one’s on our side.” Buckley moved past his men to peer at the Hybrid. “O’Neil, huh? You’ve got a bit of Irish blood in you?”

“Great-grandparents, sir.”

The lieutenant colonel slapped him on the back. “Welcome home, my boy.”

Buckley ushered them into a Mowag Piranha armored personnel carrier. The APC joined a convoy that wound from the pier onto the barren streets. There were no bodies, and all the civilian vehicles had been pushed aside to clear a route through the city. They passed storefronts with shattered windows and pubs and restaurants with tables strewn about inside. The Ionic columns outside the parliament house rose to greet them before they entered a militarized checkpoint leading to Trinity College. The once-picturesque place of higher learning had been turned into a military base. Huge tents stood across Parliament Square and over the lawns. Military personnel filed between buildings.

“The college was already fitted with buildings, walls, and gates,” Buckley explained. “It made a good defensive point in the middle of the city. Plus, plenty of residences to provide temporary housing for our men and women. Most of the city was burned out during the first weeks of the outbreak, but the college endured.”

“Please tell me the Guinness Storehouse made it,” O’Neil said.

“It’s one of the first things we saved,” Buckley said with a wink. “But not for the stout. Truth is, the Storehouse draws in water from outside Dublin. It’s a fair bit cleaner than the River Liffey.”

Buckley escorted Dom, O’Neil, and Meredith past the famous Trinity College Library, which had evidently been turned into a command hive. Officers marched in and out of the building, talking with animated gestures. Dom almost hoped they would be hosting their meeting in the library—he had heard it was an inspiration for a certain book and movie series about a school for wizards that Sadie and Kara loved. Instead, Buckley took them to a lecture hall in the Biomedical Sciences Institute at the edge of the campus. It was a fitting setting for what they had to discuss.

There were already dozens of officers gathered in the lecture hall when they arrived. Buckley stood behind a podium and, once he had everyone’s attention, motioned to Dom.

“This is the man that’s come to tell us what we’re going to face. He has killed more Skulls than there were tourists in Temple Bar. Listen carefully. You think we’ve faced Skulls before, but by the Americans’ estimates, we’re looking at a concentrated invasion of anywhere from two to twenty thousand Skulls coming through our port. We may be the last line of defense between Ireland and utter destruction.”

There were no murmurs of shock or despair, just a stone-cold silence as Dom took the stage.

“What you are about to face is the most relentless army you have ever seen. They will surrender to nothing but annihilation.” Dom figured most of these men must know something about the Skulls by now, but all the same, he detailed their basic weaknesses. There weren’t many. Armor-piercing rounds or shots to their weakest points—their joints, necks, and faces. Some of the faces in the audience twisted in disgust when he described the acid-spewing Droolers and their corroded, broken bodies. The effect doubled when he discussed the monstrous Goliaths and the even more frightening Titans.

He hadn’t seen any Titans since the Congo. But that didn’t mean he shouldn’t warn them. Finally, he introduced the Hybrids.

“These guys are what you really need to look for. They’ve got all the traits of a Skull, but they’re still very much human.” Dom gestured to O’Neil. “There is no better way to learn about them than by hearing from one firsthand.”

When O’Neil stood before the Irish Defense Force leaders, there were audible gasps. At first he looked uncertainly about the room. But he was the best man for the job, so he squared his bone-plated shoulders and began.

“The first thing you got to know about Hybrids is they don’t feel pain like a normal person,” O’Neil said. “They’ve got the armor of a Skull and the nerve endings of a veteran mixed-martial-arts fighter who’s been hit in the face one too many times. I’m one of the unlucky experimental versions they hadn’t yet perfected. The ones you’re going to face are a very different story.”

O’Neil displayed his claws to the room. “These things will rip out your guts before you can squeeze a trigger. And more often than not, the guys they make into Hybrids will do exactly that just because they can. They carry guns, but they like being up close and personal. But the most terrible thing about these bastards is their ability to influence Skulls. The FGL has been working on this for a long time. The Hybrids can rile Skulls up. They can direct them in battle. They don’t have perfect control over them, though—more like cowboys herding cattle. So if you want to screw with the enemy’s battle plans, it’s the bastards that look like me you have to go after.”

After O’Neil finished, Meredith joined him to explain the medical precautions they could take in the field. Four container ships of Skulls descending on Dublin meant someone was going to get scratched. All the effort the military had poured into Dublin would be wasted if the Agent spread within the city’s newly established garrison. Dom had no delusions that they alone could stop all four ships from reaching the city. It would be dangerous enough taking out one or two before they arrived. The Huntress would be especially vulnerable, and as a result, so would be the city.

Dom noticed a noncom enter from the back of the hall. He marched up to Buckley and whispered something in the man’s ear. Buckley motioned to Dom.

When Dom joined him, Buckley said, “The enemy is here.”

***

Meredith shifted uneasily in the Seahawk’s seat. It hadn’t taken long for her, Dom, and O’Neil to return to the Huntress and outfit themselves for another incursion onto one of the FGL’s Skull ships. But the ships had entered their range sooner than expected.

“I guess they couldn’t wait for us to destroy them,” Miguel said.

“They enjoy the fireworks show as much as I do,” Andris said. He patted his tac vest, where he stored his C4. “I am very much looking forward to sending them to the bottom of the ocean.”

Meredith didn’t share their excitement. “They’re a whole day early. I hope Kinsey isn’t deliberately feeding us false intel.” Dom didn’t voice an opinion, but Meredith imagined he felt the same as her. After all, the first time Kinsey had sent them on a mission, his aim had been to betray them and take the Huntress. Back then, he had believed the Hunters were the bioterrorists responsible for the Oni Agent. They’d set the record straight, but Kinsey still didn’t seem to trust them. The Hunters paid his distrust back in kind, no matter how much Shepherd reassured them that Kinsey was on their side.

“The FGL’s on to us,” Jenna said, checking the magazine for her rifle. “They’re pushing their timeline forward, hoping to catch us unprepared.”

“Then they don’t know the Hunters very well, do they?” Spencer asked.

Their confidence was reassuring, but the fact that their intel had been proven wrong was not. And as they neared the container ships, they realized the accelerated timeline wasn’t the only issue. While one of the ships was packed full of containers, the other three had, from Meredith’s estimate, only a third of what they usually carried.

“Why didn’t they send a full load?” she asked.

“Maybe they didn’t have enough containers and Skulls to fill four ships,” Glenn offered.

“Either way, we’re going for the fully loaded ship,” Dom said. “The more Skulls we can take out before they reach Dublin, the better.”

Meredith grabbed hold of the rappelling cord and clipped on her carabineer. Beside her, Andris and Jenna prepared to disembark.

“Please exit the aircraft in an orderly manner,” Frank said. “Luggage pickup is courtesy of your friendly Skull attendants today. If you see one, thank them with a bullet to their head.”

“Bravo, go,” Dom said.

Meredith slid down the rope. The warm air of the rotor wash blasted over her. She hit the deck and cleared out of the way as Andris and Jenna touched down beside her. Quickly, they took positions behind cover, searching for any Hybrids or FGL human soldiers.

“We’re in position.” Meredith scanned their surroundings with her rifle. By now, they usually had dispatched a few Hybrids and FGL goons. There was no way the helicopter had gone unnoticed. Something wasn’t right here. “No contacts. Ready when you are.”

Alpha team hit the deck next.

“Are they so desperate they’re just sending out ships full of Skulls without a support crew?” Jenna asked tentatively.

“Seems a bit rash,” Glenn said.

“Keep your guard up,” Dom said. “They might have an ambush planned.” Then he looked to Miguel. “You got a reading on any explosives?”

Miguel lowered his rifle and pulled back his sleeves. He unlatched a panel on his prosthetic left arm and accessed one of the many tools Chao had outfitted him with. If Meredith remembered correctly, this one dated back to the start of the outbreak. They’d boarded an abandoned oil rig where Miguel’s trace explosives detection device had warned them of an impending disaster.

Had the FGL laid a similar trap for the Hunters here? It seemed as viable an explanation as any. Lure them down to the ship as usual, then let the whole thing erupt into a ball of flames. Meredith held her breath as Miguel studied the readout.

“I’ve got nothing,” Miguel said at last. “At least not down here.”

“That’s strange,” O’Neil said. “I’ve also got nothing.” He sniffed the air, his nostrils flaring. Despite all the times Meredith had worked beside O’Neil, she still wasn’t used to having the half-man, half-Skull on her side. When he went into predator mode like this, it highlighted the drastic differences between him and the rest of the Hunters even more. The spines along his shoulders and joints bristled, and his eyes narrowed before he finally turned back to Dom. “There are definitely hints of Skulls here. But usually their smell is more concentrated.”

He rapped on one of the containers with his claws. Normally that would have elicited at least a growl from the Skulls packed within. This time the sound rang out hollowly.

“It’s empty,” Meredith said. “Are they all empty?”

“I don’t think so,” O’Neil said. “They’re on here somewhere.”

“Frank?” Dom called. “Stay close. We might need a fast extraction. Bravo, take the engine room as usual. Alpha, we’re going for the bridge. If something funny is going on, it might be worth our while to figure out how and why.”

Meredith started to lead Andris and Jenna away from the group. She felt a pair of eyes on her neck and stole a glance back. Dom gave a her a subtle nod.

Be careful, he seemed to be saying. He would worry about her as they took their teams through disparate parts of the ship. And Dom would haunt her thoughts, too. The hazards of running ops with people you had an intimate relationship with... well, there was a reason Meredith had never dated at the Agency.

They made it to a hatch that revealed a set of ladders leading into the belly of the behemoth ship. She thought she heard something click against metal down one of the passages. But nothing moved—or pounced—in the silence that followed.

Onward they went, passing hissing pipes and rust-pocked bulkheads. At first, the only sounds were the long groans and creaks of the ship’s internal structure shifting and expanding. Air blew through ventilation ducts, and a rhythmic clunking resounded down another corridor as they neared the engine room.

Then another sound pierced the chorus of the rumbling ship. A staccato tap-tap-tap.

Like rats running through the ducts, Meredith thought.

“Anyone have eyes?” she asked.

“I heard that, too,” Jenna said, “but I haven’t seen anything.”

As they approached the engine room, the deafening noise of machinery confronted them. The hatch was wide open.

“Usually they keep that thing shut,” Jenna said.

“I do not like this,” Andris said, pressing the stock of his rifle tight against his shoulder.

“Me neither,” Meredith said. This was always the part she hated most in Bravo team’s assignments. The closer they got to the engines, the less chance they would have of hearing an approaching Skull or soldier. “Andris, take the hatch.”

The Hunter sprinted there while Jenna and Meredith covered him.

“Clear,” Andris reported.

Meredith crept through the hatch. The explosive din of the engine room hit her full force. She swiveled on her heels, looking to identify potential threats. Her heart caught in her throat. Her eyes fell on a sight that did not belong. Long silver gouges marred one of the generators. Gouges that could have only been caused by claws raking over the metal.

She indicated the marks with a flick of her fingers. Andris gestured to say he saw it, and Jenna seemed about ready to respond in kind. Then her eyes went wide. Meredith spun to see what had caught Jenna’s attention.

There, between the stanchions stretching from ceiling to deck, stood a Skull. The remains of military-issued fatigues hung from its jutting spikes. One of its eyes was missing, revealing a reddened, oozing cavity. It held up an arm with only half its fingers remaining; the other arm was missing below its elbow. The Skull opened its mouth to shriek, though the sound was lost in the engine room’s din.

Then it leapt from its position, charging Jenna. Meredith leapt to help Jenna fend off the bastard before it got to her. But as she did, she saw movement from another corner of the chamber. The shadows shifted and morphed. Something else was in the room. Lots of somethings.

The charging Skull wasn’t alone.

-5-

Dom bounded up the ladders toward the container ship’s bridge. He recoiled when a jarring noise tore through his earpiece. It sounded like Bravo had made it to the engine room. Then there were voices yelling. It was difficult to understand them, but one word was exceedingly clear.

“Skulls!” Meredith cried out.

“Bravo, do you read?” he asked. There was no response. He signaled for the rest of Alpha to pause. “Bravo, do you read?”

Radio silence.

“God damn it, Mere, say something!”

The staccato of gunfire broke through the pounding engines and high-pitched shrieks of Skulls. Then the sound faded.

“I’m here!” Meredith said.

Dom heaved a sigh of relief. “What’s your situation?”

“We’ve got Skulls!”

Never had they run into anything but the standard human soldier and a Hybrid or two wandering near the engine room. Maybe a container had broken during the transit and the Skulls had overwhelmed the crew. He thought that the point of the Hybrids was to prevent exactly that from happening, but if he’d learned anything about the Skulls, it was that they were unpredictable.

“Bravo, do you need fire support?” Dom asked.

“Negative,” Meredith replied. “We can handle it.”

Dom looked to the rest of his team. “I don’t want to be here any longer than we have to be. Let’s move.”

They positioned themselves around the hatch to the bridge while O’Neil climbed up so he could break through a window. Miguel placed a breaching charge, and the hatch slammed open, tendrils of smoke swirling out. They didn’t enter immediately. Dom preferred to let whoever waited inside for them simmer. Let them wonder why no one had entered through the open hatch yet.

“I see them moving toward the entrance now,” O’Neil said. “Going in.”

There was a shatter of glass.

“Go, go, go!” Dom yelled.

Miguel and Glenn stood, rifles aimed at the open hatch. The smoke started to clear, and the first enemies charged out.

But unlike the usual cohort of Hybrids and sailors, the figures that barreled out did not carry firearms. Nor were they human anymore.

“Skulls!” O’Neil bellowed from inside the bridge. “Shit!”

Miguel riddled the first Skull with gunfire. Bone chips and flesh flew from the others as Glenn, Spencer, and Dom joined in the salvo. More of them barreled out, snarling and growling. Their claws raked the air, desperate to tear into flesh. Red holes peppered their armor under the onslaught of rounds. The creatures fell in waves, but still they did not stop.

One of the Skulls dragged itself toward Dom. Blood dribbled from its lips. It wore a jacket with the insignia that meant it had once been a captain. Now gore and grime covered its once-white jacket. Huge hooked spikes rose from its spine and pierced the back of its clothes. Claw by claw, it pulled itself toward Dom, its legs broken and bleeding.

Dom planted one of his boots into the Skull’s forehead to stop it, then fired. The former captain fell still. A moment later, the shooting stopped.

At first, with the absence of gunfire, Dom figured they had finished off all the Skulls camped out in the bridge. But then the rattle of bone plates and the scratch of claws against metal rang out. Shrieks and growls exploded from beyond the hatch. Dom hurdled the crumpled bodies of the Skulls.

His rifle roved over the terminals and chart table. Shards of broken glass littered the deck, sparkling under the hazy light filtering in through the grime-covered windows. Toward the rear of the room, a tangle of Skulls ripped at their prey.

“O’Neil!” Dom shouted.

Amid the tangle of limbs, it was near impossible to tell where O’Neil ended and the monsters attacking him began. Dom couldn’t risk spraying gunfire at the mob; O’Neil would end up just as much of a bullet-sponge as the Skulls. O’Neil was strong. But he wasn’t strong enough to face a dozen Skulls alone. His ability to affect any mood changes in the Skulls was also directly related to his ability to concentrate. There wasn’t much time to focus when six-inch claws were swinging in front of your face.

Dom unsheathed his knife. He tore back the head of the first Skull he ran into and plunged the blade deep into the flesh beneath the Skull’s chin. The blade caught on a plate of bone before Dom shoved it in harder, digging into the creature’s brain. The Skull fell still in his arms even as two more turned from O’Neil to attack.

Miguel rushed the closest. He twisted his prosthetic arm, and a blade shot out, embedding itself into the Skull’s orbital cavity. “Got your back, Chief.”

With roars to rival the Skulls, Glenn and Spencer crashed into the fray like a pair of human wrecking balls. Alpha team parried claws and delivered devastating blows. But what the Skulls lacked in organization, they made up for in sheer ferocity and numbers.

A knife between the Skull’s shoulder plates didn’t stop the bastard Dom was now fighting. Instead, the beast only grew more ferocious. It bared its curved fangs and lunged, claws extended. Dom tried to withdraw his knife, but it was stuck deep.

Dom jumped back and withdrew his H&K45C. He leveled the pistol straight at the monster’s head. It tried to bite down on the barrel, but Dom grabbed the Skull’s neck, twisted it around, and then squeezed the trigger. The Skull’s teeth exploded in a spray of bony shrapnel. Dom fired again, and the Skull dropped.

Alpha worked methodically to batter and stab and shoot the mob of Skulls. With each fallen monster, the fight became more manageable, easier. Soon they stood near the chart table surrounded by the corpses of their enemies. They fought to catch their breath.

“Bravo,” Dom said between heaving breaths, “are you there?”

“We’re there,” Meredith replied. “We’re alive. The engine room is clear.”

“Good. Bridge is clear, too. Any humans or Hybrids?”

“None. You?”

“Same.”

“Something isn’t right here,” Meredith said.

“Definitely not.”

“I found something else,” Miguel said, showing his prosthetic to Dom. A red light blinked from the trace explosives detector. “Something here is rigged to blow.”

***

Midshipman First Class Rachel Kaufman took a deep breath, preparing herself to lead her assigned group of civilians. It had been one thing to run drills and exercises with her fellow midshipmen back in her Naval Academy days. But trying to get a gaggle of civilians to follow a few simple orders was worse than herding Skulls.

“Come on!” Rachel yelled over the frantic voices of the men, women, and children. “You have less than ninety seconds to get into the shelter! If you don’t, you’re Skull food!”

Rory Booker, her fellow midshipman, waved the group onward. “Hurry, hurry, hurry!”

The civilians filed into a church. The flimsy wooden walls and delicate stained-glass windows of the place wouldn’t stand a second against the rancor of the Skulls. The only chance they had was making it into the basement. In the musty, concrete-lined space, they at least had solid doors to protect them. It would get the civilians out of their way while Rachel, Rory, and the rest of Kent Island’s volunteer and military forces could eradicate the invading Skulls.

“I can hear the Skulls screaming!” Rachel added. “They’ll be on us in seconds!”

“Come on, people!” Rory said. “These things are going to tear us apart!”

Rachel looked at her watch. Sixty seconds already. Some of the civilians were shaking in fright; others, mostly children, were bawling. But amazingly, most of them just looked plain bored.

That annoyed the snot out of Rachel. If this were a group of midshipmen, they would all share the same serious expressions, determined to do exactly what they’d been told. They would execute their orders to the best of their ability with nary a complaint.

One woman paused against the flow of people and looked up at Rachel. “How long are we going to be down there? I didn’t bring any snacks.”

“Snacks?” Rachel screamed. “You want snacks? Good lord, you’re going to be snacks for the Skulls if you don’t move your ass.”

The woman looked miffed and opened her mouth to respond. Rachel glared at her until the woman got the hint and marched along with the others.

Rachel glanced at her watch again. Goddamnit. They had hit the ninety-second mark.

A whistle blew, and an army master sergeant marched down the center of the street, waving his hands. Other groups of civilians filing into shelters paused. They stared at the master sergeant, and eventually their voices fell silent.

“Ladies and gentleman,” the man barked into a bullhorn. “Once again, you have failed to get into your shelters on time. Another drill, another failure. Do you realize what this means?”

Everyone was smart enough now not to answer.

“It means you’re all dead,” he continued. “And don’t you dare cover your children’s ears. This is the reality we live in now. As soon as a shipload of Skulls hits our shores, you’re all dead. I don’t care if your back hurts or you’ve got arthritis or you don’t know how to run. You know why I don’t care?”

The people who had made it to the basements were trickling outside once more.

“I don’t care because the Skulls don’t care,” the master sergeant continued. “We’re facing an enemy that doesn’t care if you’re a woman or a child. Doesn’t care if you’re disabled or sick. They are killers, and they do not stop.

“So here is what you will do. People, help your neighbors. Parents, help your kids. Kids, help your parents and grandparents. Because if just one of you falls, if just one of you turns into a Skull, you risk the rest of this island. I will not tolerate failure. Is that understood?”

Now it was time to speak. The crowd responded in a deafening, “Yes, sir!”

“Go back to your homes. We’re doing this again, and we’re doing it right!”

They didn’t get it right. But at least, according to Rachel’s watch, they got into the church and secured in the basement in under six minutes. It still wasn’t great—half of them would’ve been torn up by Skulls if this wasn’t a drill—but it was better than the first six times they’d done this.

Finally, the drills were over. The mass of people began to disperse. While some of the children and elderly looked worn out, too many of the people were actually smiling at being done for the day. Rachel didn’t like that.

“People here have grown soft,” she said to Rory. “They forgot what it’s like on the other side of the bridge.”

Most of these people had arrived at Kent before the Goliaths and acid-spraying Droolers started cropping up. They were the lucky ones who had somehow managed to avoid the monsters until the military discovered them. Or they had heard the rumors and made it to Kent of their own volition. There was another fraction of civilians who had arrived by boat. Those people had been fortunate enough to have sea craft of their own, and they’d largely avoided the mainland since the outbreak began.

None of them—including Rachel and Rory—had encountered the Hybrids they’d been warned about. Kent Island had once been a place of hope. It stood as a beacon of what could be. When people worked together, they forged new communities and protected themselves from the dangers outside their gates and welcomed the refugees running from the terrors of the Oni Agent.

But despite the work as they’d poured into this community, it was still fragile. Even a small group of Skulls on the island could spread the Oni Agent as fast as chicken pox in a kindergarten classroom.

“I don’t see what the fuss is about, really,” a grizzled old man said as he walked next to his gray-haired wife. “Those gates get taller every day. The military brings in guns and soldiers to protect us. Those monsters aren’t ever going to get in.”

Rachel shook her head. I hope you’re right.

-6-

Lost in the shadowy corridors of his drug-addled brain, Dr. Shigeru Matsumoto remembered another time. He sat on the tatami mat surrounded by his family—mother, father, wife, and children. The coldness of winter crept under the paper screens. Then a Toyota pulled up, taking him back to Tokyo, back to work.

Back to Unit 731.

It would only be later that night that he would learn of the firebombing of Yokohoma. His family had been caught in their sleep. He visited afterward and saw their faces. Charred skin melting off burning sinew. Blackened bones mixed with the charcoal remains of their home. A dishonorable way to die and a most dishonorable way to kill.

He still heard their screams of anguish at night. He didn’t need to have witnessed it, didn’t need to be there to allow those tortured shrieks to percolate through his mind for the rest of his life.

Then he blinked, and he was back in the present moment.

He was at the first test. Just him and his lab assistant. Ah, what was the man’s name? He struggled to think through the fog of grief.

Nishiyama?

Yes, yes, Kinzo Nishiyama. That was it.

They were both young scientists determined to make a difference for their country. No one admitted it outright; it would be near blasphemy to utter the words. But they were losing the war. The Americans were taking the Pacific from them, one island at a time. Soon they would be in Japan.

A shudder snaked through him at the thought of it. His ancestors had made their home in Yokohama for centuries. The bodies of his family were laid to rest there. Yet soon American boots would stomp over their graves.

He took great pleasure when he and Nishiyama first injected their compound based on animal-derived prions. The first Chinese soldier he had injected with the compound had devolved into a slobbering mess of a human being. A dissection revealed his brain had been riddled with patches of stiff plaques and holes. Interesting, but not the desired effect.

Months in the lab led to improved formulations. The first time one of his subjects tried to kill him, he knew he had succeeded. He had watched the starving prisoner jerk and shudder as the compound took hold. The man had lashed against his chains, and when Nishiyama went to check his reflexes, the prisoner had nearly broken his shackles trying to bite the lab assistant.

They had invoked the power of the Shinigami, the death gods, on Earth.

He took pleasure in his victory. It was the only joy left to him in this life.

This was Japan’s last defense. If the Empire fell to the gaijin, he would rally every last man, woman, and child to their defense. He imagined Americans trying to fight through a Tokyo filled with people who had taken the compound. Those who were possessed by the Oni were given strength, fortitude, and aggression beyond any mortal being. Even the sick and frail would be able to defend the Empire.

But it all fell so quickly when the Americans dropped their bombs and his government capitulated.

Afterward, he was whisked away to Fort Detrick in Maryland. They wanted him to advance his work in the years after the war, to make the compound stronger and easier to transmit. He had created the compound to defend his own country, but America wanted to use it to defeat others. To make it so that their enemies would destroy themselves from the inside without the Americans having to expend a single one of their precious soldiers.

They wanted to win wars without having to fight them.

There was little honor in that.

Despite that, he could not walk away from his work. He cared too much about the science to give it up. For years he worked under their directive until the program was erased from existence. They sent him, along with a few others like him, to the mountains of West Virginia, on the other side of the world from the graves of his family. He should have died there, never to set foot in a lab again. Some of his compatriots relished the fresh air and the landscape of pine forests winding between mountains.

But the call of the lab, the call of his work, was too great.

So when, in the middle of the night, a man walked into his room with blood on his hands, promising him a chance at resuming his life’s work, he could not refuse.

Now he was in Moscow. Cold beyond anything he had known in Japan. The people here did not smile at strangers on the street. That was acceptable. He spent all of his time with the father and son who promised him a return to glory for him and his country. Revenge for what the Americans had done.

The last clear memories he had were of them convincing him he needed surgery to prolong his life. The only way to keep working was to subject himself to the experimental devices the younger Spitkovsky had shown him.

Once he awoke from surgery, his life became a blur. He saw only shades of colors and heard only muddled sounds. Clarity reigned in fits and bursts. He felt as if he’d been drunk the entire time since he started working for the Russians. Ever since they implanted that thing into his brain.

He found himself in a helicopter above a jungle. Then he was in a room, surrounded by medical equipment.

Then he was on the ocean. Visions of a new medical crew swam above him.

Next he was on a plane. A crash. People taking him through the woods. Trees everywhere. Trees and monsters. The people who carried him called them Skulls.

But now the device had been removed. Taken out by the Americans. And slowly his mind was returning to him. Now he saw a bright light. A face. Scars. Slight wrinkles spreading from the eyes. A furrowed brow.

“You going to answer me?” the American asked in his gratingly nasal tone. “Or are you going to play dumb again?”

***

Colonel Jacob Shepherd stood at Shigeru Matsumoto’s bedside. This frail old man had created the Oni Agent that destroyed the world. He looked more skeletal than his creations. His skin hung off his body like a flag on a pole on a windless day. He hated using these machines to keep the old man alive. The resources in here, from the IV drip to the attending nurses and doctors, could be used to save the men and women in the fight against the Oni Agent.

But here they were, keeping this bastard alive because he was a link to the past. Maybe he had useful intel on Spitkovsky and the FGL. If he did, Shepherd hadn’t gotten it yet.

“Come on, Matsumoto. Quit playing the fool,” Shepherd said. “You didn’t go from working on Titans and Hybrids to being a vegetable in a matter of days.”

Matsumoto’s eyelids fluttered. Shepherd had learned not to get his hopes up. Ever since they’d moved the old man into Fort Detrick, he’d been like this, constantly drifting in and out of lucidity.

Kinsey had heard some kind of neuromodulation device had been pulled from the old man when he was back on the Huntress. That device had been used by the FGL to track the Huntress. But it seemed to have had some kind of effect on Matsumoto as well. Somehow, that device had kept the doctor under their influence. Maybe it had something to do with the technology the FGL had developed and implanted into the Titans to control them. Dom and the Hunters had tracked Matsumoto down in the Congo, where he’d been hospitalized there. Somehow, the FGL had used the neuromodulation device to regulate when Matsumoto was lucid and when he was put into a near-comatose state.

Now, without the aid of the device, Matsumoto seemed to be merely a quiet observer of the world around him. His eyes had shed their gray sheen, and he seemed more alert and slept less. But he also didn’t talk much.

“No changes?” Shepherd asked a nearby doctor.

“Nothing, sir. Every sign shows he’s healthy as can be for a guy his age. What I can’t tell you is whether he isn’t talking because he can’t or because he’s choosing not to.”

Shepherd looked back to Matsumoto. The old man’s eyes focused on something only he could see. “I hope you know what you did. You’re responsible for the deaths of millions, maybe billions of people. And if you know anything to help us stop it, you better start talking.”

Matsumoto didn’t respond. Shepherd hadn’t really expected him to.

“I don’t know if you believe in an afterlife, but I promise you, wherever you’re going after this one, it ain’t going to be pretty.”

Shepherd waited a moment to see if any of his words sank in. Matsumoto simply stared straight ahead.

“Goddamnit, old man. I thought bringing you back to Fort Detrick would ring some bells, but I was wrong.” He sighed. “I wish you’d just die. Then we wouldn’t be wasting our resources on you.”

Shepherd was tempted to strangle the bastard himself. As he turned to leave, cold fingers wrapped weakly around his wrist. The chill spread through those fingers and into Shepherd’s vessels. He twisted around to face Matsumoto. The old man stared straight into his eyes. His lips were cracked, and white whiskers bristled above them.

“I have been imprisoned for so long,” he said, his voice gravelly and weak. “So many times. I do not know what I’ve done now. I have been a slave to anger and hatred. Forces beyond my control. Forces that controlled me.”

No shit, Shepherd thought. But he said nothing. If Matsumoto was finally talking, he wasn’t going to break the spell.

“They will come for me again,” Matsumoto said. His eyes swam with tears, but his gaze never left Shepherd’s. “You must stop them.”

“No way, old man,” Shepherd said.

Matsumoto’s fingers fell away. His hand swung limply over the side of his bed. He waved a hand in front of Matsumoto’s face. The old man’s gaze remained fixed straight ahead even when Shepherd stepped to the side. He’d lost him again. And he hadn’t gotten a single useful word from the bastard.

What the hell had he been rambling about? Maybe the old man was convinced he couldn’t control the ghosts of his past. Or maybe he was worried about the FGL still controlling him.

Whatever the case, the old man’s fears wouldn’t help Shepherd quell his.

Fort Detrick was still in danger. So was the rest of the United States.

He left the hospital in no better a mood than when he’d arrived. A private saluted him as he climbed into a Humvee, and the vehicle took him away. All around him, other soldiers scurried between buildings. Civilians, too. Vehicles filled the streets of the base. Not just the ones burned to a husk, battle-scarred Humvees, or civilian sedans riddled with bullet holes and claw marks—these were actually filled with people traveling between assignments.

There was a buzz on Shepherd’s handheld radio. He picked it up.

“Shepherd here.”

“Sir, I have news to report.” It was Lieutenant Vasquez. She’d served under Shepherd since before the outbreak. “You asked me to let you know when the first batch of Phoenix Compound made it through production.”

Ah, yes. The cure Dr. Winters and her medical team had developed on the Huntress. Because of the unique way it destroyed infectious proteins—prions—it served as both a vaccine and a cure if administered early enough after infection.

“And it’s cleared production?” Shepherd asked.

“Yes, sir. Quality Control reports that the process is stable and the compounds are working as expected. We will be ramping up production immediately.”

“Excellent,” Shepherd said. “Get the first batch to the medical clinic. I want all the men and women guarding the walls to get it. Anyone in direct contact with the Oni Agent for research purposes as well.”

Over the growl of the Humvee’s engine, he heard the piercing staccato of automatic gunfire. He winced and waited for a chorus of howls to answer it. His dreams would forever be haunted by the night when a group of Goliaths tore through Fort Detrick. Every time he heard gunfire or the lone howl of a hunting Skull, he braced himself for a desperate defense. They had worked so hard to recover, yet all the man-hours spent rebuilding, all the bullets spent defending, all the lives lost in the effort, could be wiped away with a single rampaging horde.

Detrick had fallen twice already. Shepherd vowed it wouldn’t again.

-7-

Meredith heard the shrieks of Skulls, just audible above the din of the engine room. Their bodies littered the deck now, bone plates cracked and diseased flesh riddled with bullets. Blood leaked across the steel grating. The odor of cordite and oil hung heavy in the air.

She and Jenna guarded Andris as he placed a few pieces of C4 among the pipes and machinery. When he gave them the signal, they ran from the engine room, slamming the hatch shut behind them.

“Alpha, we’ve set the explosives,” Meredith said. “We’re headed to the stern now to place the final charges.”

Once they detonated, those charges would scuttle the ship and ensure the shipment of Skulls never made landfall.

“Copy,” Dom said. “We got a read on trace explosives up here.”

“Miguel?” Meredith asked.

“That’s right. He detected a small concentration around the bridge. We’re not sure what’s going on, but we dealt with our own batch of Skulls up here.”

“You think the crew turned?”

“Looks like it,” Dom said. “Either way, I want to be out of here in ten minutes.”

Meredith, Andris, and Jenna continued down the corridor. As they got further away from the noisy engine room, the ringing in her ears lessened. Soon she could hear the crash of water against the ship’s hull once more. Amid the pounding of their feet on the deck, Meredith thought she heard something else. It wasn’t just the tap-tap-tap of pipes adjusting to shifting pressures or the whoosh of air through ventilation ducts. This was a distinct scratching sound.

“Do you smell that?” Jenna asked.

“It wasn’t me,” Andris replied automatically.

The stink of diesel and oil still clogged Meredith’s nostrils, but if she concentrated, she got a whiff of a stench like carrion rotting in the sun. It grew stronger as they approached the most sternward corridors.

“These container ships have all been in shitty shape, but this one takes the cake,” Meredith said. She gestured toward the bulkhead. “Andris, go for it.”

The Hunter withdrew the last batch of demolition explosives from his pack. He set the blasting cap and remote detonator then secured the package against the bulkhead.

Andris patted the bulkhead and stood. “This should be more than enough to sink this stinking wreck.”

They took a set of ladders toward the upper deck, but the stench of rotten meat followed them. The scratching they’d heard earlier seemed to grow louder and more frequent.

“Here they come again,” Meredith said. There was no mistaking the distinctive scrape of claws against metal. “But where the hell are they?”

Growls and moans seemed to follow them as if the Skulls were in neighboring corridors. Meredith hurried through each intersection and past the hatches as they worked their way back to the surface of the ship.

“I do not like this,” Andris said. “I would rather they just attack so we can shoot them and get it over with.”

“I’d rather we just get off the ship so you can set your damn bombs off,” Jenna said.

“We’re almost there,” Meredith said, peering around a corner.

Still no Skulls.

The stench was getting stronger, and the howls were growing louder and more frustrated. It seemed the further they went along and the more their bootsteps clanged over the deck, the angrier the hidden Skulls were getting.

“Wait!” Andris called. “Look at this.” He knelt at an intersection and picked up a length of wire. The wire had been pressed into the corner of the deck. Meredith followed it as it snaked to various hatches along the corridors, connecting them in one long circuit.

“What is it?” Meredith asked.

“A detonating cable.”

“Shit,” Meredith said. “Can you tell what it’s rigged to?”

“Got to follow it.” He picked up the cord inch by inch. It led to the first hatch. There it curved into the space where the hatch met the bulkhead. Gingerly, he tried the handle. “It is locked, but the cord goes underneath.”

Suddenly something clanged against the hatch. A loud shriek sounded, followed by claws scraping.

“Probably better that door stays closed,” Andris said, stepping away.

“Look,” Meredith said. She pointed to the cord. “It keeps going.”

The cord continued to a neighboring hatch. Meredith tentatively tapped against the door. Just like before, something threw itself at the hatch, erupting in fearsome howls.

“Skulls behind every one of these doors,” she said. “They’re rigged to blow.”

Andris took out a pair of wire cutters and shrugged. “That’s easy enough to stop.” He snipped the detonating cord. “Amateur job.”

“Great,” Meredith said. “Those two hatches aren’t going to blow open, but I have a feeling more are rigged. Looks like we found what was setting off Miguel’s trace explosive sensor.”

“Shall I cut more?” Andris asked.

The hatches clanged as the Skulls riled each other up.

“Better to get off the ship than spend more time here trying to sabotage their traps,” Meredith said. She chinned her comm link. “Alpha, we found detonation cords rigged to hatches with Skulls locked behind them.”

“Bravo, get to the upper deck immediately,” Dom replied. “Frank, we need that pickup now.”

A spear of light illuminated flecks of dust just down the corridor. There it was: an exit from the rank and noisome passageways. Meredith ran toward it with Jenna and Andris beside her. The growls of the Skulls chased them, and her heart beat faster.

They couldn’t let a ship like this hit the Dublin Port. Even if it did have fewer Skulls on board than usual, it would still be a massacre. Whoever had rigged the ship knew the Hunters couldn’t turn their backs when people needed to be protected.

Still, Meredith couldn’t quite understand what the enemy had been thinking. The Hunters had set their foot in the bear trap, but it hadn’t been sprung yet. They hadn’t identified the trigger that would set the explosives off.

“We’re wrapping up in the bridge,” Dom said. “Bravo, you in the clear?”

“We are now,” Meredith said, still racking her mind to figure out when those charges would go off below deck.

She led Bravo onto the upper deck. The roar of the Seahawk greeted them as Frank lowered the chopper, ready to pick them up.

“Data transmission done,” Dom said. “Removing transmitters now, then we’ll join you, Bravo.”

“Copy, we—”

A deafening rumble shook the ship. Flames rolled from the shipping containers on the deck. Stacks of them collapsed, and black smoke poured out of the hatch Bravo had just exited. Then came another wave of sound: a chorus of howling Skulls.

***

Dom grabbed the chart table to steady himself as the ship lurched with the power of the explosion.

“Move!” Dom bellowed over the groans of bending metal.

The rest of Alpha team barreled out of the bridge. Once again they were leaving the bridge with barely more intel than they’d arrived with. Another series of smaller explosions burst throughout the ship’s lower decks, sending tremors up through the bulkheads. Dom grabbed a rail as he sprinted out of the bridge after his team. They rushed down the ladders toward the deck to join Bravo team.

Overhead, Frank’s Seahawk beat the air, promising them refuge—if they could find somewhere for the pilot to touch down long enough for the Hunters to escape. A hatch beside Dom burst open with a hiss. Smoke poured out, bringing with it a Skull. The monster charged Dom. Its claws reached for his flesh, and it let out a bloodcurdling wail. Dom barely had time to duck under its swinging arms.

As the thing came at him, he slid on the deck. The monster turned to catch him, but Dom was faster. He raised his rifle and fired off a three-round burst. The bullets caught the monster’s chest. Bone cracked and flecked off. The Skull collapsed as a wet gurgling sound escaped its lips. Bloody bubbles popped from the hole in its chest.

“Chief!” Miguel yelled.

The Skull hadn’t been alone. Four others trampled its body in their haste to reach the Hunters. They came at Dom in a flurry of bony appendages. Glenn and Miguel leveled the first two with their rifles. Spencer and Dom finished off the rest.

“I’m sensing more,” O’Neil said. “When they were all stowed away below deck, I couldn’t smell ’em like I can now.”

“Any idea how many?” Dom asked.

“A shit-ton,” O’Neil said.

“I can handle a shit-ton,” Miguel said. “Two shit-tons is another story, but one is manageable.”

Spencer started to say something. “I don’t—”

An explosion from the bridge cut off his words. Glass shards flew like daggers, and the ladder peeled away from the rolling fire. The heat and force of the blast caught Dom squarely in the chest and tossed him backward.

Pain flared when his head struck something hard. All around him he smelled burning oil and flesh. His ears rang, and his pulse raced. He shot to his feet, looking for the rest of Alpha.

“Miguel! Spencer! Glenn! O’Neil!”

Debris fell over him like hail. He coughed, his lungs filling with the oily smoke surrounding him. A shape ran through the haze. Fire licked off its body, and it let out a tortured scream. For a moment Dom worried that was one of his men. Then he saw the horns and claws, longer than even O’Neil’s.

The flaming Skull caught sight of Dom. Even as its bone plates turned to charcoal and its melting flesh sloughed off its body, it came at him. Dom parried scything claws and biting teeth. All the while, the heat of the fire consuming the Skull blazed against Dom’s skin.

Another Skull careened out of the smoke toward Dom. He backed away, using his rifle to counter their attacks. But with two burning Skulls after him, there was only so long he could last. Adrenaline burned through him hotter than the raging fires.

A claw raked one of his arms. Pain lanced through his muscle. But he didn’t lose the grip on his rifle. Another fist hit his chest, crashing into his body armor. The air whooshed from his lungs. His throat ached from the smoke, and his eyes watered, blurring his vision.

“Chief!” Miguel called.

“Miguel!” Dom bellowed back. “Over here!”

Spittle flew from the mouth of one of the Skulls as Dom fended it off. Its sour breath washed over him, more pungent than its charred flesh. Then he saw his chance. He swept a leg out, catching a Skull’s taloned feet. It stumbled, trying to catch its balance. As the Skull tripped, Dom caught its compatriot under its chin. That Skull’s head flicked backward, momentarily thrown off its attack. Dom planted his foot into the monster’s ribs and kicked it over.

Another shape exploded out of the smoke. Miguel. He caught the off-balance Skull. With a twist of his wrist, he flicked the blade out of his prosthetic and straight into the back of the Skull’s neck. Dom plugged the other with two bullets through its chest and another through its head. The Skulls collapsed to the deck, fire still consuming them.

“Where are the others?” Dom rasped.

“Don’t know,” Miguel said. “You’re the first I found.”

Spencer, Glenn, and O’Neil couldn’t have been thrown far. Dom ran into the billowing smoke where Miguel had come from.

“Alpha!” Dom called over the comms. “Respond!”

“Here, Captain!” Glenn yelled. “Over here!”

Dom twisted in the direction of the frantic voice. The silhouettes of Skulls surrounded the rest of Alpha. O’Neil stood between Glenn and Spencer. Blood flowed from the Hybrid’s nostrils. His eyes were closed. He stood as if at attention, yet every muscle in his body seemed to be shaking.

“He’s trying to stop them!” Spencer yelled.

There were maybe two dozen Skulls surrounding the trio. Glenn and Spencer prowled around O’Neil, shooting into the mob. The monsters jerked forward in fits. It was as if they were moving amid strobe lights. O’Neil seemed to be having some effect on them, but it wasn’t enough to stop them.

“Take them out!” Dom ordered.

He and Miguel rushed the Skulls, firing into their ranks. When it was too risky to keep shooting, lest they hit the others, they lashed out with blades. The Skulls twisted and bit, trying to attack one moment, then standing still the next.

Sweat rolled over Dom’s soot-covered skin and dripped into his eyes. His muscles strained with each Skull he brought down, and he fought to breathe air still thick with smoke. Fire raged within the superstructure of the ship, and billowing gray clouds of smoke chased out more Skulls. They swarmed through the hatches. Many were on fire. Others had damaged limbs, twisted and burned or missing altogether. None of that stopped them from seeking their prey.

“Alpha, we’re being pushed back!” Meredith called. “We almost made it onto the deck, but the Skulls got there first.” Gunshots blasted over the comms. “We need help!”

“We’re on it!” Dom tried to take a deep breath. He erupted into a coughing fit instead. He could already imagine the blackness sticking to the insides of his lungs, making it more and more difficult to breathe. “Alpha, let’s go. O’Neil, can you hold them back?”

The Hybrid wiped the blood trickling out of his nostrils. “I’ll try.”

Then his eyes went wide. A roar filled the air, followed by the crash of metal containers slamming into each other. A Goliath barreled toward them, throwing Skulls and shipping containers out of its way.

-8-

The Goliath’s nostrils flared. Its beady eyes looked miniscule amid the mask of overgrown bones that was its face. Huge tusks curled out from its massive underbite. Vessels larger than a normal human’s arms dilated between the thick plates covering its limbs. From its shoulders, spikes of bone jutted out. They appeared as though they’d been cut or broken off, blunted abruptly at their ends. The Goliath slammed a shoulder into one of the shipping containers, knocking the object aside as if it had been an empty cardboard box.

And Thomas was forced to watch the whole scene from the drone circling the container ship. Despite his location in the Huntress’s electronics workshop, he could almost feel the heat of the flames consuming the other ship and the tremor of the deck under the Goliath’s stomping feet. He heard Alpha’s and Bravo’s frantic voices as each dealt with the Skulls, separated now by bulkheads and decks.

“Fall back!” Meredith yelled. “Look out!”

Then Dom. “O’Neil, take the smaller ones. I got this one!”

Thomas let the unlit cigar fall from his lips as he slammed his fist on the console. “Damn it, we’ve got to do something.”

Chao and Samantha gave him pity-filled looks. There was nothing they could do but watch.

“I’m looking for an opening,” Frank said. “But those Skulls are driving them in circles. Can’t get the Hunters still long enough to pick ’em up.”

“Keep at it,” Thomas said.

A knot tightened in his chest. This had been a goddamn trap. They’d had to risk boarding. Thomas understood that. Any intel, any clue when or where the next wave of ships would come in, would be a boon. But the FGL had been expecting the Hunters this time.

A smaller Skull bounded out of one of the superstructure’s hatches. It scaled the bulkhead over Miguel’s head. The Hunter fired on another Skull, oblivious to the threat.

“Miguel,” Thomas barked over the comm link. “Above you!”

Through the monitor, Thomas saw Miguel look up and fire. The Skull fell to the deck. Its bones cracked, and blood flooded from the fresh wounds.

“Always knew I had a guardian angel looking out for me,” Miguel said, before firing on another Skull.

“Angel, my ass,” Thomas spat. “I’d rather be down there filling those bastards with bullets myself.”

He hated staring impotently at the crew through the safety of these monitors. It seemed as if they were being routed in circles by the Skulls. The Goliath came after them in a whirlwind, and Dom led Alpha back up the superstructure’s ladders toward the destroyed bridge. Thick tendrils of smoke plumed from the wreckage.

“Alpha, you go in there and you’ll lose your eye in the sky,” Thomas warned.

“No choice,” Dom said.

“You’ll need to find another choice,” Thomas said. “Frank can’t pick you up there.”

“Shit,” Dom said. Frustration shook his voice.

Thomas wished he could say something more helpful. It was either take down the Goliath or retreat toward the bridge. Dom really didn’t have any other options as far as Thomas could see. And both might well be suicide.

Bullets pinged against the Goliath’s armor. A few holes wept crimson between the plates, but the behemoth didn’t seem to notice. While the Hunters were forced to use the ladders and platforms, the Goliath simply dug its claws into the metal, making its own handholds as it climbed. Smaller Skulls ambushed Alpha at every turn, flinging themselves from open hatches.

“That’s it,” Frank said. “I’m going in.”

The chopper lowered, and its blades kicked away wisps of the oily black smoke. A rope ladder uncoiled from the side and fell just yards away from Dom.

“Hold tight,” Thomas said. “Any closer and you risk shearing those blades off.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” Frank said. “I’ve got—”

“Move, Frank!” Thomas bellowed.

The Goliath had ripped a piece of steel grating from a platform. It cocked its arm back then let the torn chunk of metal fly. Frank jockeyed the chopper away just in time. The piece of platform blasted past him. With a roar, the Goliath ripped off one of the swinging hatches and flung it like a deadly Frisbee at the chopper.

“This thing wants to play Donkey Kong,” Frank said. Another improvised missile forced the chopper higher as he buzzed around the superstructure with the climbing Goliath. “I like arcade games as much as the next guy, but I’m fresh out of quarters.”

“Frank, you’re going to need to pull back,” Thomas said, ignoring the pilot’s quip. “The chopper is making that Goliath go crazy, and if we lose you, the Hunters are going to have a hell of a time getting off that ship.”

There was a long sigh over the comms. “I can’t leave ’em like this.”

“Do it!” Dom yelled back. “Thomas is right.”

The rest of Alpha laid down a barrage of fire. More Skulls clambered up the superstructure in the wake of the Goliath. Some fell away in the onslaught of bullets. But the Goliath continued on, shielding a swathe of the smaller monsters behind it.

“I got this!” Glenn said as he unlatched a grenade from his tac vest.

He waited for the Goliath to roar again. When it opened its mouth, Glenn let the grenade drop. It plummeted straight at the Goliath’s face. Glenn’s aim was good... but it wasn’t good enough. The grenade glanced off, exploding several yards from the giant beast. The force shook the monster but didn’t deter it.

“Alpha!” Meredith yelled over the comms. “We need fire support now! We’re being beaten back into the lower decks.”

“Don’t go too low!” Thomas bellowed. The container ship’s bow was already rising above the surface of the water. The ship had maybe five or ten minutes more before the flooding dragged the whole thing into the deep.

Alpha lobbed a couple more desperate grenades. The Goliath swatted them away. One blast peeled back a layer of bony plates on its arms. It let out a terrifying bellow that was loud enough to shake the speakers inside the electronics workshop.

Still it climbed.

“Christ,” Thomas muttered. “This is what hell must look like.”

Then another voice broke over the comm link. “This isn’t working,” O’Neil said. “I’m going to try something else.”

“You can’t control it, can you?” Spencer asked.

“Not like I do the smaller Skulls,” O’Neil answered. “On my mark, you guys make a run for it. I’ll hold off the Goliath.”

Dom turned to face O’Neil. Thomas could see the worry in his face from there. “You’ll get yourself killed, O’Neil.”

“Maybe, but at least you all will live.” O’Neil leapt from the platform. He soared in the open air for a second then twisted his body and fell straight at the Goliath.

***

Meredith ducked under a claw. Water sloshed at her feet and those of the Skull attacking her. It snapped at her, teeth barely missing her nose. She slammed the stock of her rifle into its chin. The impact punched several of its fangs out, and blood gushed from its split lips. A blow like that would’ve knocked a normal human off its feet.

But not a Skull.

Then another rifle jabbed into the Skull’s face and let loose a spray of automatic gunfire. “I have your back, always,” Andris said before turning to another Skull.

“Coming down the other corridor!” Jenna yelled.

They were being pushed into the confines of the sinking ship. Every intersection they passed was clotted with Skulls. At least down here the monsters’ movement was limited; the brief time they’d spent topside had been filled with Skulls coming at them from every goddamn angle imaginable. Meredith had hoped that they’d be able to whittle away the Skulls’ numbers, fighting like the Spartans holding the Persians back at the Battle of Thermopylae.

There was one small problem with that plan. It seemed there was no end to their numbers. If Alpha could lend fire support, maybe they’d be able to crush the Skulls, coming at the monsters at two sides simultaneously. But the Goliath had trapped Alpha above deck.

Everything turned into a blur of snaking smoke, blood-soaked water, and raking gunfire. For every Skull they took down, it seemed three more charged down the passageways to take its place. All they could do was retreat. The water was growing deeper. No longer just a puddle beneath their boots, the cold swallowed Meredith’s ankles and then crept up to her calves.

“Reloading!” Jenna said, switching to a fresh magazine.

Meredith desperately sprayed gunfire to make up for the temporary pause in Jenna’s salvos.

There was an ear-shattering roar that shook Meredith’s bones. Then came a quake as if something heavy had hit the deck.

“Alpha!” Meredith called. “What’s going on?”

“O’Neil went after the Goliath,” Dom said. “We’re coming for you.”

Another bellow echoed down the corridors. It was loud enough to give the Skulls pause. The roar ended in an agonized gargle then fell silent.

“The Goliath’s down!” Miguel said. “The Goliath is down!”

“O’Neil?” Dom called.

No answer.

They had no time to mourn the Hybrid’s sacrifice. The rest of Alpha and Bravo’s lives were at stake.

Another sound even more terrifying than the Goliath’s roar bubbled over the din of the Skulls’ desperate cries. As the beasts jostled each other, each determined to be the first to sink their claws into Meredith, Andris, and Jenna, the all-too-familiar sound grew louder. An intense stench washed over Meredith, and she looked for the skinny, twisted Skull that was its source.

There, between two Skulls wrestling each other to get through an intersection, she saw it: the bloated belly, the jaw degraded by dripping acid, and the bloodshot eyes locked on her.

“Drooler!” she yelled. She had just enough time to drag Jenna and Andris away from the blast of spewing acid. The brown liquid splattered against the bulkhead and splashed into the water pooling around them.

The acid dispersed in the water, but even diluted, it was strong enough to singe her skin. Slowly, as the acid-filled water seeped into her clothing, the burning spread. It was nowhere near the agony of a full-on Drooler attack, but it still felt as though a thousand fire ants were crawling over her, biting at her flesh.

Lauren and the medical team had developed a polymeric coating that normally helped protect the Hunters against the Droolers’ acid. But it only protected on impact. It did nothing for this slow leeching of water infused with acid under the fatigues. The pain would only get worse.

Another round of gruesome boiling noises sounded from the Drooler’s half-dissolved jaw. It was getting ready to unleash another spray.

They couldn’t risk adding any more acid to the water. It wouldn’t just be the stinging pain she needed to worry about; at high enough concentrations, the acid would start to eat away the skin around her ankles and spread up her legs.

“Take it out!” Meredith yelled.

But Andris and Jenna were already engaged with other Skulls. Neither had a clear shot on the Drooler. It was up to Meredith. Several other Skulls lumbered into her rifle’s path. She worked quickly to take them out, her heart pounding in concert with the Drooler’s belching growls.

The skinny Skull seemed to know it had the upper hand. It took its time, barely advancing even as the throng of Skulls around it pressed forward. Their bony appendages and armored chests took the brunt of Meredith’s fire.

She needed just one shot to take out the Drooler. One shot to blast through its ugly face and prevent it from unloading its next batch of hot acid.

Another Skull lunged at her. She swatted away its claws, but the force from its blow knocked her off her feet. With a splash, she landed in the water. Her skin burned from her neck to her toes.

Planting a foot in her attacker’s chest, she kicked the Skull backward before it could finish her off. She fired a round into its chest then shoved it into the water. The acid began eating away at the Skull’s armor. Bits of bone flaked off, and blood tinged the water with a scarlet hue.

The Skull lifted a desperate hand to scrape at Meredith. Its muscles, raw and red beneath the cracked plates, quivered. Meredith kicked the Skull’s hand away then planted a boot atop its head. Throwing her weight into it, she smashed through the weakened bones of its cranium.

“That’s what you get,” she spat then continued firing into the mob surging toward her.

More Skulls went down, but it wasn’t enough. She still couldn’t get a clear shot on her primary target.

“Alpha,” Meredith called. “We’ve got a Drooler now!”

“On our way!” Dom replied.

Then the Skulls parted enough for Meredith to see the Drooler again. The monster’s bloodshot eyes caught hers. Its head wrenched back as it prepared to spit.

“Not again,” Meredith muttered.

She kicked another Skull over then sent a flurry of rounds into the Drooler’s head. Gore flew from the wounds, and the sickening gurgling quieted just in time. The Drooler slumped over, disappearing under the feet of its demented brethren.

It was a small victory, but at least the threat had been eliminated.

At least, she thought it had. From behind them, another column of acid jetted out, dousing the Skulls in its path.

Meredith jumped backward. “We’ve got another one!”

-9-

“That’s no Drooler!” Dom shouted. He could see Meredith, Andris, and Jenna now, backed into a corner in knee-high water. “Hold your fire!”

From a nozzle in his prosthetic arm, Miguel doused the Skulls nearest him in the same highly concentrated hydrochloric acid the Droolers spewed. It was another weapon Chao had crafted for the Hunter, and it did its job well. Bone plates and armor dissolved under the sustained spray. The acid had gotten the Skulls’ attention, and many began to turn.

“Open fire, Alpha!” Dom said.

Skulls fell under a wave of lead. Squeezing in on both sides now, the Hunters caught the Skulls in a pincer movement with Miguel blasting acid into their lines. There was no way they could take all the Skulls down; there were simply too many. But if they could cut the horde down in one corridor, they might give Bravo just enough time to retreat.

“Not sure how long we can hold these guys off,” Glenn said.

He and Spencer had posted up along one of the intersections, firing down another passageway. They leveled the Skulls running in to reinforce their brethren, but inch by bloody inch the monsters still advanced. They climbed over the corpses or squeezed between the tangled bodies. Nothing would keep them from fresh meat.

It was a race against the advancing horde, but eventually the Hunters beat back the last Skulls in their corridor. Bravo had enough room to slip through the reaching arms of the rest.

“Spencer, Glenn, we’re moving.”

The duo peeled away from the spot they’d been guarding. With everyone accounted for, they charged back toward the upper deck.

“Frank, we’re going to need that air evac real soon,” Dom said.

Their escape route was a gauntlet of horrors. Skulls blasted out of the neighboring corridors. Smoke covered the ceilings, and flames licked from several open hatches. The ship groaned as more distant—but thankfully smaller—explosions rocked the vessel. The incline of the deck grew steeper as the ship sank. Water was flowing in more quickly now, chasing the Hunters up the passages almost as fast as the Skulls themselves. The swelling seawater carried with it the blood and carnage of the battle. Corpses floated amid living Skulls desperately scrabbling for purchase.

The ship would be a tomb for hundreds of the abominations. Dom prayed it wouldn’t become the Hunters’ final resting place, too.

“I’m ready when you are, Captain,” Frank said.

Between the dull glow of the red emergency lights lining the passage, Dom spotted a sliver of white.

Daylight.

“We’re almost there!” he roared.

Skulls shrieked and sprinted at them. Blades and gunfire flashed. It all became a hypnotic, delirious dance. Fending off the monsters, escaping the sinking ship.

Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.

At least, Dom supposed, the ship hadn’t exploded all at once. For that, they were lucky. Or maybe the people who had set this trap were demented. Maybe the FGL wanted Dom and the Hunters to die agonizingly slowly, trapped on this hellish ship. It certainly fit Spitkovsky’s twisted MO.

Miguel charged ahead of the group. A Skull dared to cross his path. It went down before it could so much as growl. The Hunters rushed over the dying beast. At last they reached the hatch and broke out onto the open deck.

The chorus of Skulls resounded from the superstructure. Fire ate the interior of the ship like a ravenous parasite. Smoke filled the air around them, stinging Dom’s eyes. But he could hear the Seahawk now above the din of the Skulls.

“I’m headed your way,” Frank said, bringing the chopper down. “No more Goliaths going to take a swing at me, are there?”

“None as far as we can see,” Dom replied.

Shipping containers lay strewn about the deck. Skulls had been smashed and smeared across the deck by the toppled containers. A few reached out pathetically, their arms scratching at nothing but air as Dom led the Hunters past.

The rope ladder swung from the Seahawk once again. This time, the Hunters were able to scale it without a Goliath trying to yank them from the air. Dom waved his team past as he stared at the huge beast lying dormant near the superstructure. Blood pooled around its gargantuan limbs, and its mouth hung open, tongue lolling out. Its eyes had been punctured by O’Neil’s fearsome attack.

Dom tried calling the Hybrid’s name once more, but there was no response.

“I haven’t seen any movement since you all disappeared below deck,” Thomas said over the comm link. “No visible activity except for the fire, smoke, and a few dying Skulls.”

“Is O’Neil dead?” Dom asked.

“I just don’t know, Captain.”

The scrabble of claws on the deck was growing louder. More Skulls started to trickle out of the hatches of the superstructure, chased up by the rising water levels and attracted by the commotion.

“O’Neil!” Dom tried again.

Still no response.

The Navy SEAL-turned-Hybrid had thrown himself at the Goliath when they’d had no other options. If the Goliath had died from the fall, surely O’Neil couldn’t have survived.

But Dom would be damned if O’Neil, by some grace of fortune, was still alive and he left the Hybrid here to die among the desperate Skulls.

“I’ve got to make sure,” Dom said. “The rest of you get on the helicopter.”

“No way, Chief,” Miguel said, swinging from near the top of the ladder. “I’m not getting in if you aren’t.”

“That’s a goddamn order,” Dom said. “You want to help me, you can provide fire support from there.”

Spencer, Jenna, and Glenn had already loaded into the chopper. They leaned out of the fuselage, their rifles ready to open up at the first sight of a Skull threatening their captain. But Meredith hadn’t even grabbed the ladder yet.

“I’m going with,” she said. Before he could tell her otherwise, she added, “If he’s injured, you’re not going to be able to handle him alone.”

Dom relented and jogged toward the dead Goliath. Frank followed as best he could in the chopper. The stacks of shipping containers and the fiery superstructure prevented him from getting too close. Gunfire rang out from under the roar of the chopper’s engines. Skulls fell without Dom or Meredith having to lift their rifles. Dom kicked a Skull that pounced at him from beneath a jumble of containers. He ended the monster’s life with a single shot then clambered atop the Goliath’s mammoth chest.

“Do you see him?” Meredith asked, joining him.

Back-to-back, they shuffled around in a circle, searching for where O’Neil had fallen. The Skulls inched closer, drawn by the helicopter. The Hunters in the chopper could hold the Skulls off for only so long.

“There!” Dom said. A heavy weight filled his gut. O’Neil was trapped beneath the outspread claws of the Goliath. He leapt off it and scrambled to where the former SEAL lay under the meaty, bone-plated fingers. “When I lift, you pull him out.”

Dom strained, his quads burning as he pushed up the huge fingers. His knees felt ready to buckle, and his muscles shook. But he did not stop until Meredith pulled O’Neil out. Dom let the claws drop, and they clanged against the deck.

Cracks had spiderwebbed across one of O’Neil’s arm plates. The mask growing over his face had been fractured, too. Blood seeped from the wounds and dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. But his chest rose and fell in weak, slow breaths.

“He’s still alive,” Meredith said. “But he needs help now.”

The shrieks of more Skulls plunging out of the ship pierced the din of the chopper’s engines. Gunfire rained down from the Hunters on the bird, but it wasn’t enough to quell the mob. Dom hated to move someone after they’d fallen from a height like O’Neil had. But it was either risk worsening a neck or back injury or let him succumb to the teeth and claws of the oncoming Skulls.

The choice was clear.

“Let’s move him,” Dom said. He wrapped his hands under O’Neil’s shoulders, and Meredith lifted his feet. They carted O’Neil to the chopper and secured a harness around the Hybrid’s limp form. The other Hunters slowly hoisted him up. Dom and Meredith grabbed onto the rope ladder next.

“Go, Frank,” Dom said. The chopper lifted away, carrying them just beyond the slashing reach of the Skulls. The monsters wailed in frustration as they leapt, their meal escaping.

Then the ship’s stern disappeared under water. The vessel groaned like a wounded leviathan. Soon the bow, too, had fed the hungry Atlantic. Some of the shipping containers bobbed at the surface before water eventually filled the small gaps, taking them under. A mess of corpses floated in a macabre tangle.

Thomas’s voice came over the comm links. “I take it you all aren’t interested in exploring those other ships.”

“No,” Dom said. “Do your worst to them.”

The boom of the Huntress’s fifty-seven-millimeter cannon burned through the air. Rounds punched through the container ships as they neared Dublin. The Seahawk landed on the Huntress by the time two of the ships had been damaged enough to stall their progress. The third continued. It rammed into the pier. Inertia carried it slicing through smaller vessels until it screeched to a stop.

As the Hunters carried O’Neil into the Huntress, Dom held his binos to his eyes. The Irish Defense Forces rushed around it to quell any invaders. But the ship didn’t release hordes of Skulls like they had thought it would.

“Thomas,” Dom called over the comm link. “Tell Buckley to get his men out of there! Now!”

The message didn’t reach him in time. Dom watched in horror as the ship erupted into a ball of shrapnel and fire, enveloping the pier and all the men around it. Debris launched into the sky and then came back down across the port, slamming into buildings and vehicles and people. Simmering wreckage was strewn over the makeshift defensive barriers the Irish had constructed.

“Son of a bitch,” Dom muttered.

Spitkovsky had played them all.

***

Alarms blared all around Kent Island. Rachel bolted upright in bed. She heard the surprised yelps and confused calls of her fellow midshipmen. A chill swept up her legs when her feet hit the cold concrete floor. She knew what she needed to do.

Grab my rifle. Get to the church.

The routine was simple enough, ingrained in her from hours of practice.

But this time, it wasn’t practice. She rushed through the mass of enlisted men and women, as well as civilian volunteers, surging to their stations. The air outside nipped at her skin. She regretted not grabbing her jacket. But the momentum of the crowd carried her forward like a wave pushing her to shore.

“Rachel!” a voice called above the din. Rory caught up to her. Dark bags hung under his eyes, and his hair stood in all directions, but he looked alert enough.

Together they ran toward their station. Already civilians were pouring down the street and sidewalks, winding between buildings. Children sobbed. Parents did their best to comfort them while wearing expressions filled with worry.

“Keep moving!” Rachel called.

“What’s going on?” An elderly woman paused, causing a buildup in the crowd near the church entrance.

“Please, keep moving,” Rachel said. “We’ll let you know as soon as we can.”

“But I—”

“Ma’am,” Rory said in the sternest voice Rachel had ever heard him use, “you heard her. Move along!” Then Rory turned to Rachel. “You think they spotted Skulls at the bridge?”

“I don’t hear gunfire,” Rachel said.

“Makes me nervous.”

At slightly under five minutes, the last of their assigned civilians had made it into the church basement. Rachel checked to make sure the reinforced doors were secure before they rushed toward the barricades at the bridge. Her body tensed. She kept waiting for the bark of rifles or the roar of one of the mini-guns.

But she heard nothing abnormal. Gulls called into the dark of the night. Water lapped at the shore. The quaint houses and buildings lining the town’s streets looked every bit as peaceful as they must have before the Oni Agent outbreak.

The duo caught up to a few of the local policemen. “Sheriff Cooper,” Rachel called.

“Midshipmen Kaufman?” he replied.

“Do you know what’s going on?”

Cooper patted his radio. “Activity near the bridge.”

“I haven’t heard gunshots, though.” Her stomach sank. “Did they already get overwhelmed?”

“No, not yet,” Cooper said. “They said they saw something big. I think a ship was headed this way.”

“Oh, shit,” Rory muttered. “One of those container ships we were warned about?”

Cooper nodded as they jogged onward. “That’s what it sounds like. Big asshole of a ship, too.”

This was exactly the situation they had trained for. Ever since Captain Holland had discovered the FGL’s plans to launch a ground invasion using his Skulls and Hybrids, they’d been wondering if one of those ships would make it through the bay.

“Heard these ships are cropping up around the coast,” Cooper said. “Maybe it’s just a rumor, but it sounds like one might be in DC, too.”

Now Rachel felt sick. They’d hung on to Kent through sheer force of will and vigilance. She had seen what Maryland and Virginia looked like on her long journey back to the island. General Kinsey’s forces had only just reclaimed a few large Washington, DC, neighborhoods like Georgetown and the Navy Yard from the Skulls. But with an army led by Hybrids marching into the nation’s capital, all those lives spent, all that effort expended, might be wasted.

If DC went, then Kent would be on its own, once again cut off from the rest of the world.

Rachel shook those dour thoughts from her mind. It wouldn’t matter if Kent was alone or not if they didn’t survive tonight. Other soldiers and volunteers ran with them toward the barricade. As they neared the bridge, voices called into the night. People jogged all along the wall, distributing weapons and ammunition.

The defenses were constructed in layers, allowing the soldiers room to fall back should Skulls overwhelm the first line. Rachel and Rory wound their way through the crowd toward the front. There they took positions next to a squad of Army National Reservists.

“How long do we have?” Rachel asked one of the men.

“Not long.” He pointed southward.

Rachel followed his finger. A dark shape loomed in the bay, glimmering slightly in the pale moonlight.

“That ship is huge,” Rory said.

“Shit,” was all Rachel could say.

The ship was enormous, stretching wider and rising taller than she could have imagined. But its deck contained only a few stacks of containers, jutting up like fat skyscrapers.

“Is it just me, or did they not fill that ship up?” Rory asked.

Rachel squinted. “You wish there were more containers full of Skulls?”

“Not complaining,” Rory said. “It just looks different than the images Captain Holland described in Morocco.”

“Well, they aren’t the same ships.”

“Obviously,” Rory said, sounding annoyed. “Something doesn’t feel right about this.”

A tingle shivered down Rachel’s spine. He wasn’t wrong. She had been expecting a ship like this to hit their shore. But in her imagination, it had been filled to the brim with shrieking Skulls and Goliaths roaring like erupting volcanoes.

The ship came at them with only a slight groan as it maneuvered through the bay.

“Can I borrow your binoculars?” Rachel asked one of the reservists.

He handed it to her, and she surveyed the ship. At the very least, she expected to see a couple Hybrids roaming over the deck or preparing the containers for when they hit shore. There was nothing moving. The bridge was completely dark.

“It’s like a ghost ship,” Rachel muttered, handing the binoculars back to the man.

The men and women defending Kent Island had been resupplied time and time again by the resurgent US armed forces moving throughout the region. They’d been outfitted with weapons to beat back the Skulls, Droolers, and even Goliaths that dared to cross the bridge toward Kent. But they weren’t prepared to take out a freighter on a collision course with the bridge. That bridge was their sole link to the land. Sure, boats and aircraft could cross the bay. But so many refugees arrived on foot, chased by the Skulls, and the bridge was the best way to ensure they made it safely across the bay. Not to mention the fuel supply on Kent was only sporadically replenished, and foot traffic was more reliable when even the winds wouldn’t cooperate enough to support the sailing craft docked around island. If they lost that bridge, their ability to provide relief to people fleeing the Skulls would be greatly diminished.

Spotlights exploded to life as the ship neared. Still, nothing moved except for a few gulls swooping around the vessel. The ship swung toward the shore, headed straight for the barricade. Calls of alarm echoed around the defensive barriers as others yelled for people to hold their positions.

“Holy shit,” Rory said. He trembled as he aimed his rifle.

“We’ve got this,” Rachel said to encourage herself as much as him.

The ship hit the shallows, carving the earth below. Heavy as it was, momentum pushed it toward the shore. It seemed like it might just cut straight through the island.

“Hold your positions!” voices rang out.

Metal screeched as the massive container ship pulverized rock into gravel. It at last slowed, but not enough to stop the ship from driving up onto the island and scraping along the shore. Rachel held her breath as she waited for Skulls to come bounding over the gunwales and pour through town.

Nothing leapt from the rust-pocked ship.

Instead the vessel shuddered to a screaming stop. The bow crashed into the bridge almost fifty yards from the barricade. The roadway shook under Rachel’s feet. She grabbed a handhold to steady herself. Cracks jutted through the concrete and asphalt, and chunks of the bridge fell away. Some of the smaller, spear-lined walls used to route the Skulls over the bridge splashed into the bay. Metal groaned as the ship settled, and the snapping and cracking of the bridge finally stopped.

For what seemed like an eternity, there was silence.

“Boarding teams,” one of the lieutenants called. “Advance.”

Soldiers rushed from behind their defensive positions. The first few squads of men and women climbed over the side of the ship and started to spread out along the deck, planting explosives along the containers. Rachel expected to hear the telltale scratch of claws against steel as the presence of the humans aboard the ship stoked the monsters’ aggression.

But all remained quiet.

“I don’t like this,” Rachel said. “Skulls should be screaming by now.”

“Yeah, I know,” Rory said.

“I hope—”

Then, with a violent blast that threw Rachel off her feet, hell exploded over the Chesapeake Bay.

-10-

Admiral Amin Mokri surveyed the bridge of the Karlstad with a surge of pride—and anger. Pride, because he had under his control one of the most advanced stealth ships in the world. Anger, because the ship he truly wanted remained out of his grasp.

“Admiral,” Lieutenant Daftary said from the communications console, “we just got word on Operation Ghost Fleet from the FGL comm center.”

“Report,” Mokri said.

“Eighty percent of the ships have been detonated. Most of those hit their targets. Three ships hit their target without the charges going off. We’re currently investigating to see if they were sabotaged. One ship in the Dublin group was boarded before detonation. Automated communications indicated that attempted data scavenging triggered the explosives to go off early.”

“Who was on that ship?”

Mokri stood over Daftary’s shoulder as the lieutenant tapped a command on his console and an image appeared. “The automated cameras captured these images before the systems triggered self-destruction.”

Mokri studied the images of the boarders. He didn’t recognize most of the men and women, pixelated as they were. But there were two that he knew instantly. The first was a man with an angular face and blue eyes that shone like lasers even through the grainy pictures. Captain Dominic Holland. The man who had haunted him like an evil spirit for as long as he’d had a career. Holland had wrecked a biological weapons research facility that Mokri had helped lead, then later sabotaged a naval vertical-launch missile weapons system capable of delivering aerosolized chemical payloads. Even with the collapse of the world’s governments, Holland still showed up exactly where Mokri didn’t want the man, first in the Congo, then in Morocco.

He was more stubborn than herpes. Impossible to get rid of and ugly to boot.

But the other man frightened him more. The admiral might not know his name, but Mokri knew what he was. A Hybrid fighting alongside Holland? Impossible. And yet there was no mistaking the mask of bone and the organic armor.

“How did this happen?” Mokri asked.

“We believe it’s one of the test subjects that Captain Holland liberated,” Daftary replied. “Most of their bodies were accounted for, but with the destruction at the Tangier facilities, it was impossible to be sure how many made it out alive.”

“Damn,” Mokri said. “Does he just have the one?”

“I can’t say, Admiral.”

Mokri lifted his hat and brushed his hand through his thick hair. “This is not a welcome revelation. If they are able to reverse engineer what we have accomplished with the Hybrids...” He met the gaze of the lieutenant. “You can be sure there will be hell to pay when Spitkovsky hears of this.”

“Yes, Admiral,” Daftary said with a slight tremor in his voice.

Mokri ignored the frightened glances from the rest of the bridge crew. With his hands locked behind his back, he walked toward the windows and looked over the sweeping deck. A few Hybrids were inspecting the weapons systems of the Karlstad. One was toying with a few surviving Swedes. The Hybrid cackled as he slashed at the bloodied sailors, nearly flaying them alive.

The Hybrids, all Russians intensely loyal to the FGL—and, most importantly, to Spitkovsky—were cruel beyond what Mokri had expected. Spitkovsky had ordered Mokri’s crew of Iranian sailors to take the Hybrids on, promising they’d be better weapons than any rifles they carried. He was right. But fighting alongside them was nearly as terrifying as fighting against them. He hoped the Hybrids could control their bloodlust.

The unpredictability of their actions in battle set him on edge, but he could not refuse Spitkovsky’s “request” that the Hybrids join his crew. The mercurial Russian leader was not prone to forgiveness, nor did he tolerate disobedience. Mokri had seen the corpses of those who had survived the attack in the Congo only to face Spitkovsky’s wrath. They would have been better off trampled to death by a Titan instead of what had befallen them.

If Mokri’s crew failed to execute their plan...

He clenched his jaw. He wouldn’t fail. This mission went beyond avoiding Spitkovsky’s ire. It was more than just seeking revenge for all that Captain Holland had done to thwart the release of the Skeletnyy Zhivotnyye Nanobakterii 14, or SZN-14. The Americans had given the bioweapon the ludicrous name of “Oni Agent,” but he hadn’t minded the names the West had given to the monsters. Skulls, Droolers, and Goliaths—he hated to admit he actually liked them.

But soon all those words would be erased, as would the Americans. The spread of SZN-14 would give the FGL the opportunity to engineer a new version of civilization. A chance to reinvent the world order, one in which the entire world didn’t bend in the direction of a superpower that had prevented his country from achieving their full economic and military might.

“Send those images to Spitkovsky,” Mokri said, finally turning back to Daftary. “He will want to know that Captain Holland has fallen for our trap.”

Daftary gulped. “But Holland is still alive. The operation did not kill him.”

“That is a small delay. Nothing more. Holland is a nuisance, and we will get rid of him, but he is not our main target.”

Holland couldn’t save the United States or Europe. The American mercenary still had no idea what Mokri had planned. The images they’d obtained from the other ships in Operation Ghost Fleet showed how the rest of the world had fallen right into the FGL’s hands. They had been primed to expect monsters; they hadn’t expected explosives.

It had been hasty work to turn all those ships into remote bombs, and not all of them had gone off as expected, but that was no matter. The most important fireworks show was yet to come.

“Spitkovsky is hailing you, Admiral,” Daftary said.

Mokri took a headset and placed it over his ears. “Mokri here.”

A deep, growling voice answered. “Holland still plagues us.”

“He does.”

“That man is worse than a wart on my ass. There will be an enormous reward if you and your men bring him down.”

Mokri knew better than to ask what that reward was. It might be promises of riches one day or a higher position in Spitkovsky’s circle of trust. It hardly mattered. Mokri wanted Holland dead for his own reasons. “Have you changed our operational priorities?”

“No,” Spitkovsky said. “But it would make our job in Europe that much easier if you eliminated Holland first. You don’t think he’ll be a problem for you, do you?”

“Not at all,” Mokri said. “We’ve learned how he works. When he finds out that we will bring down Washington, DC, he will have no choice but to retreat.”

“Holland doesn’t retreat,” Spitkovsky said.

“He doesn’t,” Mokri agreed. “At least not when he has a choice. The rest of the world will react to our threat, too. America will withdraw back into its shell, just like it did during the first wave of SZN-14. If Holland is reluctant to return, I have no doubt the generals running that mess of a country will order him back.”

“I hope, for your sake, you are right.”

“I am,” Mokri said. “The cargo ships made them doubt their intel and the veracity of Captain Holland’s claims. I am sure of it.”

“Your certainty is worth nothing. I want results.”

“That I will give you. We’re headed to France as we speak. It won’t be long before our men are on the ground there.”

“Good,” Spitkovsky said. “I take it you’ve avoided all contact with other vessels?”

“We have,” Mokri said. “We’re as much of a ghost as Holland’s ship.”

“You’ve proven yourself once to me,” Spitkovsky said. “I have not forgotten what you did to get me out of Siberia. But our place in this new world is not yet decided. If Europe and America stand together, they may think they have a chance of stopping our armies. That is unacceptable.”

Mokri balled his hand into a fist. The rocky coast of France was in sight. “We’ll send the whole European continent back to the Dark Ages. And it won’t even take us an army to do that.”

“I look forward to that day,” Spitkovsky said. “As does your family, I am sure.”

A ball of hot fire raged in Mokri’s chest, but he fought to hold his tongue. Spitkovsky had taken Mokri’s wife, daughter, and son to a compound outside Moscow under the guise of protecting them. “They are still safe, I presume.”

“They are.” A pause, then Spitkovsky added, “For the time being. I worry for their future if you do not succeed.”

The line went dead. Spitkovsky was a fickle ally at best.

Yes, Mokri had much to fight for. Vengeance against Holland. A new future for his countrymen and the FGL.

And the lives of his family.

-11-

The computers in the electronics workshop buzzed like a swarm of cicadas. Samantha had her headphones resting around her neck. Some kind of clashing music was erupting from them. Her eyes were lined with dark shadows, signs of exhaustion that her stack of empty energy drink cans had been unable to assuage. Chao sipped from a thermos of steaming coffee. The normally straightlaced and reserved comm specialist had long been adamant about avoiding any mood-altering substance, including caffeine, but apparently after today’s near-disastrous mission, he had finally made an exception to that rule.

Dom had barely had time to shed his gear when Chao informed him they’d received a message from General Kinsey demanding Dom talk to him at once.

“Is he on the line yet?” Dom asked.

“No, Captain,” Chao replied.

Of course, now that Dom was in the workshop, Kinsey was suddenly unavailable.

“He better call back soon,” Samantha said, wrinkling her nose as she looked at Dom. “Because you smell like a bonfire where people decided to use shit instead of firewood.”

That probably wasn’t too far from the truth. Dom could still practically taste the smoke from the container ship, and the odor of death clung inside his nostrils. “Next time I’ll ask the Skulls to shower before we fight ’em.”

“Much appreciated,” Samantha said. “Speaking of Skulls, how’s our Hybrid friend?”

“Lauren says he’s probably got a concussion. A couple of his armor plates are fractured, but it’s nothing a little bone cement can’t handle. He’ll be fine. It’s the people of Dublin I’m not so sure about. Any word from Buckley?”

“Casualties are in the hundreds,” Chao said. “At least thirty dead, many still missing.”

“Christ,” Dom said. “Any Skulls make it out of the blast?”

“It seemed that ship was rigged just like the one you invaded,” Chao said. “Most of the Skulls died. The ones that made it to land were killed before they could do any damage. Buckley didn’t report any infections.”

“It’s chaos down there,” Dom said. “Make sure you warn him to keep a close eye on his people. Symptoms could show up at any time. All it takes is one of his people getting infected by the Oni Agent, and all their work in Dublin will be for nothing.”

“I’ll let him know,” Chao said. “Lauren spoke with his medical clinic leads, so they’ll be on the lookout. Quarantine facilities have been set up.”

“Tell them any soldier on the front line needs to be examined immediately,” Dom said. “And have Lauren teach them how to perform the antibody test to detect the presence of Oni Agent in the bloodstream.”

Dom had to wait for several long, frustrating minutes before one of Chao’s lines finally blinked, calling his attention.

“Huntress,” Chao answered.

“US Reclaim Operations Command Center,” the answer came. “General Kinsey is requesting to speak with Captain Holland.”

Chao handed Dom a headset. “Holland here,” Dom said.

“Dublin still stands?”

“Dublin still stands,” Dom confirmed. “How are Washington and Kent?”

“DC is fine. Kent was hit,” Kinsey said.

Dom’s stomach sank. He pictured the two midshipmen whose lives had intersected with his a number of times. “How damaged?”

“Casualties number around fifty.”

The sinking feeling in Dom’s gut got worse. He had to ask. “There were a couple of midshipmen that helped us on occasion. Are they... do you have any idea about Rachel Kaufman or Rory Booker?”

There was a pause. Dom’s nerves tingled. It felt like an hour before Kinsey spoke again. “They are both hospitalized. I don’t know the extent of their injuries. They are in a critical care unit, although their prognosis is evidently good.”

Dom let out a long breath. It wasn’t the best news, but it was better than his imagination had led him to believe.

“Can I continue?” Kinsey asked.

“Please.”

“Kent Island shouldn’t have been attacked like this. The explosion nearly destroyed their defenses. Somewhere along the line, your intel and mine missed something. Everything you brought to us from Morocco said those ships were going to be loaded with Skulls.”

Dom could sense the accusation in that statement. He still stood on rocky footing with Kinsey. Just getting the man to communicate with him had taken a tremendous effort. The red herrings Spitkovsky and the FGL had planted within intelligence communities around the world had done lasting damage to Dom’s reputation. He’d only been able to buy back that trust with Kinsey by sending Shigeru Matsumoto, the Phoenix Compound, and all the intel he’d gathered on his journey through the Congo and then Morocco.

Instead of taking Kinsey’s bait, Dom tried another tack. “You’re telling me no one over there intercepted anything to warn us we were operating on bad intel?”

“We confirmed what you told us.” Kinsey said nothing more, which meant Dom was right. “We’re running scenario models to determine what the end goal is here. Those freighters killed hundreds—maybe thousands—of people across the country. The real question is what happened to that Skull army we were promised? Did they ever actually have an army to begin with? And if so, why did they switch tactics?”

“All I can tell you is that we saw ships in Tangier stuffed with Skulls and Hybrids. You know as much as I do.”

“For your sake, I hope that’s true.”

Dom drummed his fingers on the console. He hadn’t waited for this call just to be Kinsey’s punching bag. “So what do you want from me? More recon?”

“I’ve got my people on it,” Kinsey said. “You need to stay out of their way.”

“Fine,” Dom said. It was difficult not saying anything more. He needed to stay on Kinsey’s good side, and that meant operating with a veneer of deference for the man. At least for now. “Then what is it you want?”

“We’ve reestablished communications in parts of Western Europe. Germany is leading the efforts to retake the rest of Europe. Frankfurt is coming back.”

“That’s good news,” Dom said. Frankfurt not only had an international airport, but it was also a major component of the power grid and a rail travel hub for all of Europe.

“You will send some of your medical people to Frankfurt. We need them to start producing the Phoenix Compound at the Mueller Pharmaceuticals facility.”

Dom thought of the logistics involved. It wouldn’t be too difficult to send a team there, but he needed to be sure there weren’t going to be surprises on the way. “Is there an FGL presence in the area?”

“Frankfurt and Mueller are completely secured. They’ve repelled the enemy from most of Western Germany. I’m told that they’ve also locked down air traffic in the area.”

“Frankfurt may be secure, but what about the routes to get there?”

“I’m not a goddamn genie,” Kinsey snapped.

Damn, Dom thought, the general is sensitive tonight.

“Safe or not, I want you to find a way to get your people there,” Kinsey continued. “We need Frankfurt. It is the key to retaking Europe, and it gives us a foothold into the rest of the world. We’ll forward all the details you’ll need, but let me be clear: This is not one of your mercenary contracts you get to pick and choose. This is an order.”

“Understood,” Dom said. He had other words he’d like to say, but those would have to wait until Kinsey was off the line. “Consider it done.”

There was a second of silence. Dom thought that Kinsey was going to hang up. But evidently, he had more.

“Mueller Pharmaceuticals’ research is integral to the success of our operations,” Kinsey said. “Because of that, I’ve already warned them about your group. I’ve also given them permission to act accordingly if you or your people threaten their work.”

With that threat lingering on the line, Kinsey ended the call.

***

“Looks like it’s you and me for the Frankfurt team,” Lauren said to Navid after Dom had relayed Kinsey’s message. They were sifting through the samples of the Phoenix Compound they had stored in the med bay’s lab. “Ever been to Germany?”

“Nope,” Navid said. “Almost all the traveling I’ve done has been on the Huntress.”

“Hopefully this flight will be a little smoother than your last.”

Navid’s last trip had been an ill-fated flight out of Lajes Field. The C-31 from the Portuguese island crashed over the United States when the pilot succumbed to an Oni Agent infection.

“Better be,” Navid said as he continued packing the samples they would bring to the manufacturing facilities. “I’m not a Hunter, and I’ve had enough face time with the Skulls to last a lifetime.”

Lauren knew he didn’t want to return to the field, but she had two very good reasons for choosing him for the mission. Peter and Divya would stay on the ship to staff the medical bay, and Sean would continue tracking Oni Agent infections in his role as an epidemiologist. Navid, though, would offer his knowledge in drug-delivery systems to Frankfurt, a skill which the scientists there had specifically requested. And of everyone on the medical team, Navid had survived the most Skull encounters, including his own girlfriend when she turned.

“I’m curious about this facility,” Navid said. “It sounds like it’s beyond anything I’ve ever seen.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Lauren said. “I want to see what our allies are up to. It’s good to know we’re not alone out there.”

She finished her task and left the lab to check on her lone patient in the adjoining ward. Brendon O’Neil sat on one of the beds. Across his shoulder plate, the light-gray hue of the PMMA—a polymer used as bone cement—shone like a healing scar. Similar streaks spiderwebbed over his skeletal mask and other fracture lines along his limbs.

“Turns out I’ll be leaving soon,” Lauren said. O’Neil let out a snort of acknowledgment. She still wasn’t sure where she stood with him after their last encounter. “Divya will be taking care of the narcotics while I’m gone. We’re going to try to wean you off those and onto something a little more innocuous. Don’t give her too much trouble.”

O’Neil’s face broke into a grin. It was terrifying, but Lauren retained her composure. “So long as the pain is in check, I won’t be too hard on the doctor.”

“How’s your head feeling?”

“Just a dull headache, but my vision is better now,” O’Neil said. “No more blur.”

“Good. I need you to stay in a seated position like this for tonight, just to prevent any buildup of fluids on your brain. I know it’s not the most comfortable way to sleep, but it’s the safest way.”

“Comfortable?” O’Neil laughed. “I’m a walking overgrown skeleton, and you’ve got me on opioids to control probably the worst pain I’ve ever experienced with these damn bones piercing my flesh. I could be hung upside down from the bow of the ship for all I care. I’m never going to be comfortable again.”

“At least you’re in good spirits,” Lauren said, patting his rock-hard shoulder.

That earned another demonic grin from O’Neil. “For some reason, I haven’t been feeling too optimistic since becoming a Hybrid. Maybe that’s something you and your scientist friends can figure out.”

“It’s going to be a tough case to crack,” Lauren said.

“Was that a pun?” O’Neil said, gesturing to one of the fractures on his arm.

“God, no,” Lauren said with a laugh. She was surprised he seemed to have forgiven her so soon. “I’m not that awful.”

“Figured.” Then O’Neil’s face turned stolid and serious again, the brief moment of humor slipping away.

As a Hybrid, he’d been difficult to treat, both psychologically and physically. But Lauren was growing accustomed to his dark humor. Self-deprecation had been a coping mechanism for him. He appreciated being treated more like one of the crew and couldn’t stand pity. The sudden change in his expression made Lauren question if she’d been reading him wrong all along.

“Look, O’Neil, about before... I’m truly sorry for pressing you. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want to violate your trust.”

“Don’t worry about it, Doc.” He sighed, his gaze growing distant. “Just thinking about Dublin. The raid went bad.”

“That’s often the case when the Skulls are involved.”

“I mean it went worse than usual. All the other times we raided those ships, it was easy. But this one was a trap.”

Lauren nodded. “Dom told me as much.”

O’Neil used a claw to indicate some of the scratches on his plate armor. The shallow gouges had been caused by Skulls. “I tried to control them, but I couldn’t. It was too much. No matter how focused I was, they got angrier and angrier.” He lowered his eyes. “And it wasn’t just that I was losing control of them.” His eyes met hers again. “I was losing control of myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I felt what they were feeling. The blind hatred. The agony. The hunger. It was as if I could sense the people trapped in the bodies of those Skulls. It almost made me crazy.” He shuddered, rattling his bone plates. “And then I made a decision.”

“About what?”

“I want to help you. I have to help you. If you can do something, anything, to control those monsters, then you have to do it. If that means I become a lab rat again, so be it. Even though you’re leaving for Frankfurt, you’ll still be doing lab work, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Then I want you to figure out how in the hell the FGL made me.” O’Neil indicated a cart full of lab supplies near the hatch. “Stick me full of needles. Do one of those live dissection things on me if you have to. I just want to make sure that what happened on that ship doesn’t happen again.”

Lauren took a deep breath. “I’ll do what I can. But I promise we won’t be vivisecting you.”

“All I’m saying is that, if you need to do it, it’s okay. Whatever it takes, Doc.”

“No,” Lauren said. “Never. We’re better than the FGL.”

O’Neil stared at her for a moment as if he didn’t believe her.

“I mean it,” Lauren said. “All I need from you is a couple of biopsies to start with. Is that okay?”

“Go for it.”

Lauren took out a handful of large syringes and needles. The needles themselves were several inches long and were nearly as thick as a pencil.

“I’m not going to lie and tell you this won’t hurt, though,” Lauren said.

O’Neil let out a deep guffaw. “I just fell three stories on top of a Goliath. A few needles are nothing.”

-12-

Kara dove under the punch then countered by grabbing Meredith’s extended wrist. She used the other woman’s momentum to pull her forward, hoping to land a takedown.

But Meredith was too quick. She broke Kara’s grip and smoothly transitioned into a takedown of her own. Kara landed on her back with a resounding thud. The sparring mat absorbed the impact, but it still didn’t feel great.

“Damn,” Kara said.

Meredith extended a hand to Kara and pulled her to her feet. She wiped the sweat from her brow, and Kara did the same. Her shirt clung to her body, soaked from her time spent on the mat. Her muscles were sore, and she was certain there were going to be a few nasty bruises, especially around her tailbone. But damn, it was worth it. She’d needed to blow off some steam.

“You good for today?” Meredith asked, recovering her breath.

Kara smiled. “Hell, no.” She went in for a lunge, which Meredith countered and reversed in one swift motion.

When Kara was lying on her back again, Meredith looked down at her. “What’d you do wrong that time?”

“Too predictable? Gave you a clear opening, projected my movements.”

“At least you’re learning.”

Meredith helped Kara to her feet again. She liked the flow of adrenaline, and whatever music Samantha had lent them to play down here in the gym certainly set the mood. The deep, thumping rhythm coursed through Kara’s bones.

“How long did it take you to master these moves?” Kara asked, lowering herself into a defensive position.

Meredith circled her. “Thirty-some odd years.”

“You fight well for as old as you are.” Kara smirked, deliberately provoking Meredith.

“Don’t push your luck.”

Kara had never felt what it was like to simultaneously enjoy and regret something. But in the moment she cartwheeled through the air, flying over Meredith’s shoulder like she weighed nothing, she knew what it was like.

Meredith helped her up again.

“Okay, maybe that’s enough for the day,” Kara said, rubbing her tailbone. “At least for takedowns. But I don’t want to quit yet. What do you think we should do next?”

“I think we should take a quick break,” Meredith said. She dabbed at her forehead with a towel. “Grab some water.”

“Fine.” Kara sauntered to the edge of the room, pretending that each step didn’t hurt. Meredith had definitely put her in her place today.

Meredith took a sip of water. “How are you feeling about everything?”

“I’ve got a long way to go.”

“You do,” Meredith said. Just like in their training, Meredith didn’t pull any punches. “Don’t feel too bad about the takedowns. I’m condensing a lifetime of training into a couple weeks.”

Kara leaned against the bulkhead. “But the bad guys don’t care how long I’ve had to learn.”

“No, no they don’t,” Meredith said. “And if you’re talking about FGL soldiers or Hybrids, the shitty reality of it all is that you’re going to be outmatched in strength and training. The best thing you can do is take advantage of their overconfidence.”

Kara nodded. “If the FGL tried to board the ship, you think I could stand a chance?”

“You want an honest answer or one that makes you feel good?”

“I get it,” Kara said. “But I’m talking about as a last resort. From what you and my dad tell me, it doesn’t matter that Sadie and I are girls—the FGL isn’t going to be nice. I’d rather die trying to escape than let them take me and Sadie prisoner and turn us into something like O’Neil.”

“Look, Kara, I’m not going to treat you like a kid, all right? I know you’ve been through a lot. You’ve looked death in the face before, and you’ll do it again. Truth is, you’re right. Don’t tell your father I agreed with you, but after seeing what the FGL does to their prisoners, I can tell you I’d rather die fighting than let them experiment on me.”

They stood in silence for a moment, letting the weight of those words hang in the air between them.

Meredith continued, “But seriously, don’t tell your father I said that.”

“Our secret,” Kara said. Another pause, then, “I keep thinking about my mom. I can’t help it. She could’ve turned us into Skulls. She sacrificed herself preventing me from getting attacked by one, even though she didn’t know it at the time.”

Meredith raised an auburn brow. “Oh?”

Kara reached deep to summon the courage for what she wanted to say. “It sounds awful, but I wish I’d let our neighbor kill her. He tried to shoot her when she turned, you know? I locked her in the basement instead.”

A sudden coldness swept through Kara, and she shivered. Meredith put an arm around her, and a bit of that cold went away.

“I still wonder if she starved to death down there while slowly turning full Skull. Horns and everything. At least that would be the end of it. But then I think that just maybe she escaped. She might be out there killing people. When I had the chance to stop her, I hesitated.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Meredith said. “Back then, we hardly knew what the Oni Agent was. We didn’t know if we could bring people back who had turned.”

Kara shook her head. “I saw it in her eyes. She was no longer my mom. She wasn’t going to be my mom ever again. But even if I did know what I know now, I still wonder if I would’ve done things differently.”

Meredith screwed the cap back onto her water bottle. “It would be a cop-out for me to tell you time will make you feel better about your decision. Or that the mental scar will fade. It won’t. There are decisions I made back in the early days of my career that I still regret.”

“Like what?”

“There was this hostage situation during the Lebanese Civil War. Your father and I were in Beirut tracking down a terrorist cell suspected of developing a new strain of cholera. They’d kidnapped a few of the local police officials’ families as hostages, too. Once the CIA got wind of their work, they sent us.

“Things were getting tense. A few bombings, some intense shellings. We thought we couldn’t wait any longer. So we raided the facility a day earlier than planned. They panicked and killed one of the hostages. We saved the other three, and we destroyed their research. But as we were scouring their labs, we found out that they had been planning on meeting a supplier the next day. Their safe house would’ve been virtually empty then.”

Meredith’s gaze focused on some point only she could see. “If we had waited like planned, we would’ve still completed the mission and wouldn’t have lost a hostage.” Her eyes met Kara’s again. “What I’m trying to say is this: We make the best decisions we can at the time. We have no way of knowing until later how differently things might’ve turned out had we made another choice. That’s going to happen a lot in this war and in your life. You’re allowed to regret those decisions. What you aren’t allowed to do is let your mind rot from the inside out because you can’t let it go. You learn, you remember, and you do better next time.”

“Thanks,” Kara said. It was all she could think to say.

Meredith put her water bottle down and walked to the center of the sparring mat. “You ready? I’m going to teach you how to disarm someone now.”

Kara joined her. A swarm of emotions circled in her mind. They clamored for her attention, but she wouldn’t give in to them. Maybe that was an unspoken part of Meredith’s lesson. The future was unknown; the past was already gone. The most important moment of her life was always the present.

Kara flexed her arms, letting the pent-up energy course through her muscles and into her fingertips. “Let’s do this.”

***

Meredith’s muscles were sore after her session with Kara. The young woman was getting better. She still had a ways to go, but even after Meredith had left the gym, Kara stayed behind to practice her moves on her own.

Dom might not have been around much while Kara was growing up, but Meredith saw a lot of him in her. There was that fiery thirst for justice and the self-sacrificing desire to save others before herself. It was admirable, but it was also dangerous. Meredith hoped that she was helping to harness those instincts even as she taught the young woman how to throw a punch and escape a hold.

She made her way through the ship to the electronics workshop. Chao had his elbow on his desk and was massaging his temples.

“You doing all right?” Meredith asked him.

“Got a headache from staring at these screens all day.”

“I can take over,” Meredith said.

“No, I can’t take any time off. I’m not trying to sound arrogant, but I don’t think we can afford for me to take a break.” Chao took a drink from a bright-green aluminum can much like one of those littering Samantha’s desk.

“That bad, huh?” Meredith asked.

“Samantha promises it’ll knock out my headache.”

“With all that sugar and crap, I’m sure it’ll knock out a lot more than that.”

“Hey,” Samantha said, “I’m living proof they aren’t that bad.”

“I say you’re the exception, not the rule,” Meredith said. “Where are we on tracking the booby-trapped fleet?”

“Turns out they’re not all quite as explosive as we thought,” Chao said. He clicked a button on his keyboard, and the monitors across the bulkhead showed a map highlighting North and South America, Europe, and Africa. “I’ve tracked every ship we had intel on and everything we’ve heard from our allies.” He tapped the keyboard again. Dots across the coastlines lit up, highlighting various cities and military bases. “Some of these ships were laden with explosives just like the ones we saw in Dublin.” Over half the dots shone red. “Others contained explosives, but they were either sabotaged before they could detonate or they were duds.” Those were highlighted in yellow. “And others had no explosives.” Those shone in blue.

“No explosives? That’s even more strange,” Meredith said. “What about Skulls?”

“As far as I can tell, it seems like most of these ships had Skulls trapped in the ships’ decks or superstructures. But the containers, if there were containers at all on the ships, weren’t filled.”

“Have we heard about any of those Skulls making landfall?” Meredith asked.

“Not too many,” Samantha replied. “It seems like they exploded with the ships. We had reports of Skulls attacking people when bomb squads went aboard ships to deactivate the explosives, but that was pretty much it.”

“So the Skulls on the ships were basically junkyard dogs,” Meredith said.

“Definitely,” Chao said. “We haven’t seen anything about the Skull armies. Not a single location has reported a container ship filled with as many Skulls as the ones we saw in Morocco or intercepted prior to the Dublin mission.”

“Makes you wonder if they ever had a Skull army to send to begin with,” Samantha said.

“No, I’m sure they had an army,” Meredith said. “So where is it, and what do they plan to do with it?”

Dom entered the electronics workshop, combing down his mussed hair. “Lauren and Navid are off. Frank’s taking them to Dublin, and Buckley’s got a plane that will take them to Frankfurt.”

“Is the airspace confirmed clear?” Meredith asked.

“Buckley reported no interference in a surveillance flight,” Dom said. “But they’re still sending a fighter escort.” Then he noticed the map on the monitors. “What did I miss?”

Meredith summarized their brief discussion then continued. “It doesn’t take an expert intelligence officer to figure out they caught wind of our tactics. I mean, there’s no hiding who invaded Morocco and found those Skull-filled ships.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Dom said. “Only a fool would keep wasting ships and containers of Skulls trying the same tactic over and over.”

“And the only reason they lost those first ships is because they broadcasted their positions. They were easy enough to confirm with a flyover. To set up a trap like they did, they probably suspected that we tapped into their encrypted comms.”

“Which means we can consider most intercepted communications through the usual channels to be compromised.”

Dom jerked his thumb at the radio equipment Meredith and Andris had salvaged from an FGL chopper. That equipment had been used to unravel how the FGL was communicating, but now it seemed that it was being used against them.

Meredith frowned. “I still want to keep listening. If for no other reason than to know what they want us to think. They might have resorted to some kind of coded language now, so unless anyone here has cryptology skills I don’t know about, we’re going to have to keep working with Kinsey’s people to figure out what’s going on.”

“I hate having to rely on Kinsey’s people,” Dom said. “But you’re right. We don’t have a choice in this one.”

Meredith brushed a hand through her hair as she studied the map on the displays. She still wasn’t used to feeling the buzz cut over her ruined ear. “That was a strange strategy, blowing up those ships. I don’t know if they were trying to unnerve us, but they succeeded. I honestly have no idea what they’re going to do next.”

-13-

Admiral Mokri strolled through the passages of the Karlstad guided by Daftary. For once, everything was going to plan, and he enjoyed a rare moment of calm satisfaction.

“All weapons and communications system encryption programs have been updated,” the lieutenant reported.

“Very good,” Mokri said.

“We are, for all intents and purposes, a ghost ship. Captain Holland and whoever else is trying to listen in will hear us only if we want them to.”

Daftary opened the hatch to the communications and cyberwarfare suite. The cave-like room was abuzz with computer activity. The machines let off a dry heat like an oven. All manner of cables draped across the room in thick bundles, giving the space an almost organic, junglelike look. “And now that the Ghost Fleet has been deployed, how is the real fleet?”

“Organization and loading continues,” Daftary responded.

“Specifics, Lieutenant.”

“We’re days away from loading the last containers. The ships we selected are the best available to us, considerably better armored and faster than the sacrificial container ships. We have heard nothing from the Americans or Europeans to indicate they know of our secondary fleet. Most importantly, the FGL naval ships we requested are also waiting for us in the Balkans.”

Daftary handed Mokri a tablet computer to examine.

“What’s this?” Mokri asked, scanning through the list of ships along with the crews attached to each.

“Sir?”

“Each of these ships has more crew members than originally assigned. I didn’t give permission to reassign anyone.”

The lieutenant paled. “Yes, sir, of course.” He took back the tablet and studied the lists. “It looks like these are Spitkovsky’s additions.”

“Hybrids.” Mokri sighed. For a moment he considered telling Spitkovsky they didn’t need the extra men on the ships, but he already knew what the man would say. As long as Spitkovsky had Mokri’s family, there was little the admiral could do to gainsay his orders.

He pictured little Banu, the way she loved it when he bounced her on his knee telling her she was riding a stallion into battle. And Ebrahim. He was growing up to be a young man with a fire in his heart. His mind was sharp, and he was always full of questions. And then, with a pang in his heart, he thought of his wife, Yasmin. She had given him the gift of that family, the gift of her love and devotion.

Spitkovsky could take all of it away.

“I suppose we’ll have to get used to our Hybrid brothers,” Mokri said. “Speak truthfully with me, Daftary: Do they cause you and the others trouble?”

Daftary’s hesitation told him everything he needed to know. The officer didn’t want to complain about his comrades nor look incapable in his superior’s eyes.

Mokri held up his hand to stay the lieutenant. “Never mind. I will not put you in that position. Besides, we have little say in the matter. To the bridge now.”

After they climbed the ladders, Mokri stared out over the ocean. The Karlstad pierced the gray waves of the Atlantic, and a frothy spray of water splashed across its deck.

“This is a thing of beauty,” Mokri said.

“It is, Admiral,” Daftary agreed.

The covert operations ship wasn’t nearly as luxurious as the customized yacht Mokri had commanded before they’d boarded the Karlstad. The captain’s cabin of this ship was only a third the size of the one previous, and instead of gilded stanchions and a luxurious berth, he had only decorations of gray steel in his spartan accommodations.

What the ship lacked in comfort, however, it made up for in functionality. It was faster, capable of speeds nearing forty-five knots. The anti-surface and -air missiles, along with the torpedo launchers and fifty-seven-millimeter cannon, meant that when he inevitably encountered Captain Holland’s Huntress, Mokri would succeed where so many others had failed.

And if all else failed, he had the Hybrids. He’d rather enjoy sending them aboard Holland’s ship. Maybe they could keep it as their own.

The Hybrids made him nervous. They jostled with each other like adolescents vying to be the alpha of their little pack. Ever since the Hybrids dispatched the Karlstad’s original Swedish crew, they’d seemed restless and prone to aggressive outbursts like wolves locked in a cage for far too long. His own crew members had recoiled in fright when the odd Hybrid lunged at them for no other reason than that they enjoyed the fear. The Hybrids would invariably roil in laughter. Violence was a game to them.

Spitkovsky claimed he had created soldiers with the brains of men and the bodies of Skulls. But Mokri wasn’t yet convinced.

The Hybrids wanted blood, and Mokri would give it to them. But for now, they would have to wait.

“Tell Spitkovsky we will be sending the fleet to Washington, DC, and alert the container ships that they will be setting sail in exactly one week.”

Daftary grinned as he picked up his handset. “Consider it done, sir.”

***

“Captain!” Chao bleated over a comm link. “We’ve got an intercept!”

Dom replaced the handset and hurried down the ladders from the bridge to the workshop. Meredith, Thomas, Chao, and Samantha were already seated at a conference table in the center of the room. Computer monitors on one bulkhead showed the same map as before, but this time there was a new marker there that popped out at Dom immediately.

“What’s going on in DC?” he asked. “More ships?”

“You could say that,” Samantha said.

Dom pictured more of the explosives-filled ships hitting the capital area like bombs, filling the Potomac with their wreckage.

“How many more?” Thomas asked.

“A fleet’s worth,” Chao said.

The world seemed to fall away under Dom’s feet. Suddenly, the enemy’s strategy made sense. “All these recent attacks were just to test our defenses. Now they’re going for the knockout punch while we’re still trying to figure out what happened.”

Thomas pounded a fist against the table. “We’ve got to hit them before they hit us.”

“Not so fast,” Meredith said. “Chao, what kind of ships are in that fleet?”

“We don’t have too many specifics,” Chao said.

“You’ve got a literal boatload of data there, and we don’t have specifics?” Thomas asked.

“Bastards are always chatting about who got drunk or laid last night, but they won’t broadcast how many ships they have,” Samantha said. “All we know is that this isn’t just a fleet of remote-control cargo ships like last time. I decoded enough to tell us they were shipping out Hybrids and normal human crews. These are orders directly from an Iranian named Mokri. Sounds like they’re going to have naval escorts, too.”

“What kind of escort?” Dom asked.

“They mentioned destroyers, but that’s all I got. No numbers, no specific classes.” Samantha wrinkled her nose. “They were awfully cagey about that part of it.”

“We’ve got to hunt those bastards down,” Thomas said.

“Hunting them down could be suicide,” Meredith said. “I want to see those ships at the bottom of the sea as much as you do, but we can’t do this alone.”

“We can at least scout them out,” Thomas said. “If we can’t handle them, fine. But if we can, we end it right there.”

“If we had a general idea of where they are, I’m sure our friends at Lajes would be more than happy to do a flyover,” Dom said. “Chao?”

Chao sighed. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a location. I can’t triangulate their signal either.”

“Any rough ideas?”

Chao shook his head. “We’re in the dark here.”

“Damn,” Dom said. “At least we know where they’re going.” He paused. “Assuming, of course, this isn’t another ploy.”

“I don’t know,” Samantha said. “This was a pain in the ass to decode. They aren’t messing around with their encryption game this time. Took me damn near two days to rip it apart.”

“Is that slow?” Dom asked.

“For other people, no,” Samantha said. “For me, yes. They made it hard on purpose. My guess is they didn’t want us to figure that one out. This is probably the real deal.”

“‘Probably’ isn’t good enough for me,” Meredith said. “My bet is there’s something more here. Remember what happens when we underestimate the FGL.”

Dom knew all too well. From the Titans in the Congo to the Hybrids in Morocco, the FGL was full of terrifying surprises. “Meredith’s absolutely right. We’re going to take this with an enormous grain of salt. All the same, Kinsey needs to know.”

“On it.” Chao dialed the emergency access line to Kinsey.

“Captain Holland,” Kinsey said, already sounding annoyed. “This better be good.”

“Define good,” Dom said. “We’ve got word that DC may be in imminent danger.”

“DC is always in imminent danger,” Kinsey said.

Dom let out a breath through his nostrils. Meredith rolled her eyes.

“General, we intercepted another set of communications between FGL command and their admiral. We’ll send you a complete recording of the messages, along with our version of the transcripts for your analysis. But the gist of it is that we found the missing army of Skulls. It’s headed straight for Washington.”

“We already analyzed those communications ourselves,” Kinsey replied.

Dom pressed his palm against his forehead. Goddamn, this man knows how to be frustrating. “You didn’t think to tell us?”

“Captain, you are low on my priority list. You told me you can take care of yourself out there, so I’ve taken your word for it. Don’t come whining to me because I didn’t provide you with highly classified intelligence.”

Meredith rolled her eyes at Dom and shook her head, a half smile on her lips. He could see what she was saying in that expression: Don’t take the general’s bait.

“General Kinsey,” Dom began slowly, “we’re out here risking our asses for you. You tell us to go intercept some shipment of Skulls, we do it. We’ve done so unquestioningly. Me and several of my people almost died in Dublin. Let us work with you and not just for you.”

“No, Captain.” Dom could almost see Kinsey spitting on the other end of the line. “That’s not the way the US military works. If you want to be treated like we treat our regular armed forces, you will act like it. When I tell you to sail, you ask where to. When I tell you to shoot, you ask at what. But when it comes to intelligence, you and Meredith Webb are no longer associated with the CIA. That message was quite clear to us, Captain Holland. The information we share with you will be on a need-to-know basis only.”

Heat flushed through Dom’s face. He wanted to tell Kinsey off. But when he saw Meredith looking at him with a raised eyebrow, he knew now was not the time to lose his temper.

“Understood,” he ground out. “I’ll await your orders.”

“That’s damn right you will, Holland.”

Then the line went dead.

“So is that it?” Thomas asked. “We’re just going to wait around for Kinsey to tell us what to do?”

Dom laughed. He had been mad, but Thomas’s face was as red as iron in a flame. The older man seethed, his brow furrowed into wrinkled gorges.

“You know me better than that. Kinsey has his allies, but so do we. If he’s not willing to share his intel, we’ll do a little recon on our own.”

-14-

Navid pressed a hand against the window of the helicopter. Below him was a landscape dotted with something he hadn’t expected to see again: electric lights. All over Frankfurt, the yellow glow of what looked like stars fallen to earth shone up at him. The streets were largely clear, with only a few vehicles traveling them. As the chopper lowered toward those lights, he was able to make out the individual vehicles better. Most appeared to be some variant of military transport. There was even an army of semitrucks hauling trailers. No matter how ordinary things looked from the sky, the world below still hadn’t returned to normal.

“You look like you have never flown before,” Felix Becker said. He was the lead German scientist managing the pharmaceutical operations.

“It’s not that,” Navid said, turning to look at the white-haired scientist. “I didn’t expect to see the lights.”

Felix offered no smile in return. “We have restored limited power to our community and, most importantly, the facilities here. The airport is not nearly as busy as it was before the outbreak, but it’s capable of handling a few planes each a day.”

“Do you really get that many flights coming in and out?” Lauren asked.

“Not yet,” Felix said. “But we hope that will change.” He leaned toward the window. “There it is.”

A huge L-shaped building rose from between the dark trees. Spotlights shone from guard towers all around it. Transport trucks crawled in and out of the facility. A few tanks were positioned near an entrance gate.

“These are the production facilities for Mueller Pharmaceuticals,” Felix said. “It used to be that over one hundred different pharmaceuticals and therapies were produced here for shipment across the world. Now, almost all of these facilities are being converted to make your Phoenix Compound.”

Navid’s stomach flipped. A few months ago he’d been a lowly graduate student in Boston pursuing his research with the goal of getting a patent and publishing a few research papers. Now he was being flown into a multinational drug conglomerate to help with the production of a pharmaceutical compound that could change the course of history. And damn it all, he’d helped design that compound. It had always been a fantasy of his to make a lifesaving therapy, but he had never considered that his dream would come true in the middle of a nightmare.

The helicopter lowered toward a makeshift helipad surrounded by soldiers and more military vehicles. An icy chill crept through him when he realized the soldiers had their weapons aimed at the helicopter. He’d thought they’d come as volunteers to be welcomed with open arms.

“Have there been a lot of attacks?” Navid asked, gesturing to the soldiers. The rotor wash pushed the grass down as the chopper landed.

“We’ve had our fair share,” Felix said. “Many packs of, as you call them, Skulls have come. And we had a number of unidentified aircraft patrol the area when we first started reestablishing these facilities. Before we could get fully up and running, it was difficult to tell whether they were allies or members of the Forces of Global Liberation. So now we prefer to err on the side of caution.”

Navid didn’t want to ask what had become of all those aircraft, suspect or not.

The door to the cabin slid open. Felix hopped out first, followed by Lauren, then Navid. The soldiers escorted them from the helipad, surging toward a gate that opened as they approached. Once they passed through and it closed, another door opened inside the compound with an electric buzz.

A blast of sterile, air-conditioned air washed around them as they entered. People in white coats filled the halls, each giving Felix a cursory nod as they filtered into other doors and hallways. Felix led Navid and Lauren down the whitewashed halls. Four soldiers shadowed them.

The German scientist paused beside a large window set into the wall. “Welcome to our production facilities.”

The huge space beyond the window, large as an aircraft hangar, was filled with huge steel drums. Pipes snaked between these vats, and gauges sprouted from them like mechanical flowers. People in blue and white clean room suits scurried around the jungle of manufacturing equipment.

The facilities Navid had visited in the States with Divya had been big, dwarfing his old laboratories at Mass Gen in Boston and the one on the Huntress. But this was in another league altogether.

“Good God,” Navid said. “It’s beautiful.”

“I am glad you think so,” Felix said, a proud smile glimmering across his face. “Before the government took over this facility, I was the director of operations here. I took great pride in what we did. But there can be no greater pride than in ending the Oni Agent scourge once and for all.”

“Well said,” Lauren said. “I hope you do know, both Navid and I have limited manufacturing experience. And when I say limited, I mean we’re used to producing the Phoenix Compound on a setup that could fit on your kitchen table.”

“I am acquainted with your work, Dr. Winters and Dr. Ghasemi.”

Navid sought to correct him. “Oh, I’m not a doc—”

Felix put a hand on Navid’s shoulder. “Young man, I could not imagine a graduate committee rejecting any dissertation you write. You have more than earned your doctorate.” Then he whispered to Navid, “Besides, it will make the technicians here more comfortable to be working for a young scientist if they believe he’s fully qualified.”

Navid gave him a firm nod. “Understood.”

Felix gestured for them to follow him down another corridor. “As to your concerns, Dr. Winters, I am well aware your capabilities are more suited for a research laboratory environment instead of a manufacturing facility. I personally requested your presence.”

Interesting, Navid thought. He’d been under the impression that they’d been sent because it was convenient and Kinsey didn’t have the people to spare back in the States.

Felix continued. “You see, we have more than enough expertise when it comes to manufacturing and scaling up production. That is not a problem.” He tapped his temple. “What I need is the genius that developed the Phoenix Compound. If any technical challenges arise, I want you to be around to address them. The American officials I spoke to offered their manufacturing protocols for the Phoenix Compound. But we did not earn our reputation as global leader in pharmaceutical manufacturing by following other people’s protocols.”

“So you’re going to develop your own protocols from the ground up?” Navid asked. To him, that sounded like a waste of time.

“We will,” Felix answered. “I believe we can do things much more efficiently and faster than what is going on in the States at this moment. And if your countrymen choose to accept it, I will gladly share our improved protocols for manufacturing the compound. This may cause a short-term delay in production, but I believe the time cost is worth it when we consider what is at stake.”

This man was either mad with arrogance or he truly believed in the ingenuity of his people. Navid figured he’d find out soon enough.

“I’m glad you’re confident in our abilities,” Lauren said. “We’re happy to help out in any way possible.”

“That is very good to hear.” Felix paused at another doorway. He slid his keycard into a slot, and the door opened. “This will be your new home for the time being.”

Navid gawked at the lab. He couldn’t help it. While the space itself was maybe only three times as big as the labs he’d worked in at Mass Gen, the equipment shone as if it had never been used. Ultra-performance light chromatography, mass spectrometry, automated cell incubators, and other top-of-the-line equipment to make a graduate student salivate. A few scientists were already preparing equipment and samples in the machines. It would be a pleasure to work in a lab like this—if he didn’t have the weight of their assignment heavy on his shoulders.

“Will this be acceptable for your work?” Felix asked.

“More than,” Lauren answered, looking almost as awestruck as Navid.

“Very good,” Felix said. “If everything we have heard about the FGL’s continuous efforts is true, then the real frontline of this war can be found in labs just like this.” His expression grew gravely serious. “And you two will be the ones leading the armies to victory.”

-15-

The line of trucks snaked toward the port from Lajes Field. An unseasonably warm wind blew over the island. It carried with it the scent of the ocean. The island was covered in lush vegetation, and if Dom didn’t know any better, he could be fooled into thinking they had arrived there for a springtime vacation.

“Makes you wish we could spend some time relaxing instead of just reloading,” Meredith said, standing beside him. “I’ve always dreamt of staying in one of those resorts. Wake up for a cappuccino and a walk on the beach then go into the mountains for a hike.”

“There might still be time for that,” Dom said. “No word from Kinsey for days, and no more communications from the FGL. We’re in purgatory, so we may as well enjoy it.”

“I know you better than that,” Meredith said. They began walking down the gangplank to shore. “You can’t stand a single minute of relaxation if there is even one Skull out there.”

A Humvee led the group resupply convoy to the pier. Colonel Elias Ronaldo stepped out of the front passenger seat and strode toward Dom and Meredith, extending a hand to each in greeting.

“You can never get too far from the Azores now that you’ve seen them, can you?” he said in his thick Portuguese accent.

“Not when you keep tempting me with fresh supplies,” Dom said.

Ronaldo beckoned them into the Humvee. They took off, bumping over the road toward the barbed-wire fences and black airstrips of the Lajes Field command center. The blackened husk of a building stuck up in the middle of the facility, a brutal reminder of the horror that had taken hold here. As the evolved Oni Agent infection had spread among the personnel, a culmination of disasters had resulted in a fire that scorched the isolation ward.

“Any Skull sightings on the island recently?” Dom asked.

Ronaldo shook his head. “Ever since Lauren’s team identified the source, we have been clean. I still find it hard to believe the Oni Agent evolved on its own to be transmitted in fleas. We’re used to unwelcome bunkmates in the barracks, so at least we had the chemicals to wipe them out.”

“Good,” Dom said as the Humvee rolled up to command.

The driver stepped out, opening Ronaldo’s door. Meredith and Dom filed out after him. Ronaldo led them into a room filled with computers. They marched between the men and women working the communications systems and settled into Ronaldo’s conference room. As Dom looked through the windows of the conference room into the main room, he noticed a number of empty chairs—stations where people had worked before the infection had spread here.

Ronaldo spread a chart on the table between them. “I obtained some information from General Kinsey, but most of this we found on our own.”

Meredith twisted the map so she could see it. “What is it?”

“All the locations where we have observed naval activity. One thing we’ve noticed in many of these ports are some new friends.” Ronaldo pushed a stack of photographs in front of them. Some were blurry; others were crisp. But it wasn’t difficult to recognize the subjects of the images.

“Good Lord,” Dom said. “The FGL must be salvaging whatever ships they can.”

There was everything from a Russian Slava-class cruiser to more antiquated Soviet-era Osa-class missile boats previously used by the Syrian Arab Navy. It seemed that at every port they had discovered under FGL control, there was a hodgepodge navy presence.

“Yes,” Ronaldo said. “Normally I would say these ships would be no match for your American Navy, but your country is still in disarray. The FGL’s naval activities make me nervous.”

“Me, too,” Dom said. “We can’t take on all these ships by ourselves. It was one thing to raid the container ships, but warships like this... Even if the Huntress is technologically superior, we only have so many guns. And despite how advanced it is, our ship still sinks like any other.”

“Have you passed all this on to the US?” Meredith asked.

“I have,” Ronaldo said. “I have also asked if we can extend any aerial support as well. But I have been told to stay my aircraft until we have further orders.”

“Why wouldn’t they want to bomb the shit out of those ports?” Meredith asked. “Send in whatever Kinsey has and take those ships out before they even reach our waters.”

Dom stared at the map and the images Ronaldo had provided. Not too long ago, Dom had asked similar questions about Tangier. It turned out Kinsey had tried to send in ground troops, but they’d been defeated and captured by the FGL. O’Neil was evidence of what had happened to the survivors of that failed mission.

“I think the state of things back home might be worse than we know,” Dom said. “If Kinsey sends out the navy, he leaves the US wide open for an attack. And what happens if, God forbid, the FGL defeats whatever Kinsey throws at them?”

The color drained from Meredith’s face. “With no one standing in the FGL’s way, it would be a massacre.”

“I hope that you two are not right,” Ronaldo said, brushing his fingers across the map. “Europe is fragile. I hoped that the US was in a better position, but it sounds like that may not be true.” He tapped on one of the ports: Tallin, Estonia. “I can tell you just how precarious things are here. We’ve reestablished contact with some EU forces in places like the Baltic states. Many of the governments are in disarray, but some military elements are still in place or at least are trying to reorganize.”

“Can they mount any kind of attack?” Dom asked.

“Most, I’m afraid, could not,” Ronaldo said. “The best we’ve done is convince them to carry out our recon. That’s where some of these images were taken from. But they are also at an inherent disadvantage. In Turkey, we believe the navy was one of the FGL’s first targets. They took control of the ships there, and the Turkish forces that are left have barely been able to secure a few neighborhoods in Istanbul.”

“That sounds like what we saw in Tangier,” Dom said.

“Very similar,” Ronaldo said. “We’ve also heard that the FGL is establishing forward operating bases dangerously close to the civilian strongholds we’ve discovered.” He stabbed his finger down onto the map. “Stockholm, Copenhagen, Athens. In fact, there are groups of civilians awaiting rescue or struggling to survive, much like the group you encountered in the Congo, in most of the locations where the FGL has been loading its container ships. Not only are these places convenient for the FGL to launch their attacks, but they might be using these survivors as human shields against us. We cannot be too liberal in aerial attacks, and the presence of civilian populations complicates the logistics of a ground-based attack.”

“And now we’ve got a whole fleet headed to DC,” Meredith said. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the map. “Doesn’t that seem a little suspect?”

“Absolutely,” Dom said. He saw where she was headed. “The FGL is up to more than just an attack on Washington. Spitkovsky wouldn’t risk everything just to take out the capital, just like we won’t risk everything in a suicidal strike against the FGL. He’s definitely planning something else. The question is: what?”

***

Darkness choked Arcachon Bay off the coast of France. No stars pierced the dense cloud cover. The air carried a humid breeze promising thunder and rain. The birds roosting in the trees along the shore had long since gone silent. The villages and towns scattered throughout the forest lining the bay appeared just as quiet and still. There were no lights marring the black. Not so much as a flame flickered from a window.

It was exactly the way Admiral Mokri hoped it would be. He retreated below deck to the cargo hold. There, his troops waited for him. A Takavar Sepah Navy Special Forces unit stood in their black fatigues, carrying a mix of FAJR 224 assault rifles and MPT-9 submachine guns. Next to them was a squad of Hybrids. In lieu of jackets, they had painted their bony armor black. It gave them a demonic appearance that sent a shiver through Mokri, though he strained not to show it. The Hybrids, with the spikes along their backs and shoulders bolstered with bony plates, stood taller than the Takavar forces, and besides their deadly claws, they carried Vityaz-SNs and other Kalishnikov variants. Those claws tapped against the sides of their rifles, and their nostrils flared like predators sniffing the air for prey.

All, men and Hybrids, had their eyes on Mokri from the moment he walked through the hatch. They stood at attention, though Mokri noted a few Hybrids’ muscles twitching. Their plates rattled slightly. They were tantalized by the prospect of battle.

“Tonight, we take what should have been ours long ago,” Mokri began. “And this is just the beginning. Our success here will ensure our victory. We will not rest until everyone who would not submit to the Forces of Global Liberation is defeated. There will be no prisoners and no witnesses. There will be no one to stand in our way.”

A cheer rose from the assembled special operators. When Mokri raised a hand for silence, the Takavar quieted first. It took a few seconds longer than he’d liked for the Hybrids to follow suit.

“Now we ride,” Mokri said.

The troops loaded into the all-terrain, amphibious BvS-10 carrier. The Swedish vehicle had a front cabin and separate trailer unit propelled by dual, tanklike treads. Mokri got in behind the driver. Admiral or not, he was not waiting behind on the ship. Spitkovsky insisted that the FGL’s leaders rode into battle beside their men.

The doors to the cargo bay groaned open and released the BvS-10 into the bay. The vehicle crawled through the water at only four knots. It was painfully slow, but at least it would keep them hidden from prying eyes. A chopper, even in a night as dark as this, attracted too much attention.

Once they hit the shore, the heavy treads carried them out of the water and down a roadway into the forest. They passed a stone church that no longer offered salvation to the living. Its windows were shattered, and there were bones piled around it. Next to the road stood abandoned restaurants and bakeries whose interiors were littered with broken glass and trash.

Then something caught his eye in a simple two-story house. A flash of light through a window. A glimpse of a face disappearing into the shadows.

He hadn’t been the only one to notice.

Sergeant Alexei Semenov, the leader of the Hybrid squad, gave him a devilish grin. “No witnesses, right?”

“Go,” Mokri said.

The door opened before he finished the single syllable, and the Hybrids rushed out. They flooded the yard. Instead of entering through the front door, they surrounded the house, scaling it so each was positioned at a window. At Semenov’s command, they broke in. The tinkle of glass shards pierced the evening’s silence. There was no gunfire. Just a single, bloodcurdling scream that went silent a second later.

When Semenov returned, he was licking his cracked lips. He wiped his claws on his pants. A spray of dark arterial blood across his chest glimmered under the dull red lights of the BvS-10’s cabin when he got in. The blood was definitely not Semenov’s.

“Carry on,” Mokri said, fighting to hide his revulsion.

The windows of the BvS-10 were now open, allowing them to listen for any other vehicles as they neared their destination. Mokri wrinkled his nose. Beneath the scent of the approaching rain and the aromas of juniper and pine, he detected the odor of death.

Mokri wondered if it was from outside the vehicle—or from his bloodthirsty compatriots within. He chose not to ruminate further on the question.

The headlights of the BvS-10 swept over a sight as horrifying as it was surreal. A swarm of Skulls appeared along either side of the roadway. They charged the vehicle. The monsters’ plates crashed together, making a song like wind chimes from hell. Their ragged flesh appeared a sickly gray under the yellowing armor. Their voices rose into the sky, a cacophony worse than the throatiest of thunders. Talons clicked against the pavement, and bloodshot eyes glinted in the headlights’ glare.

Allah save us, Mokri thought. His mind flashed to Moscow, where his family waited under the “protection” of Spitkovsky’s men. If he died here, he wondered what Spitkovsky would do with them once they were no longer useful as leverage.

Mokri wished to live. If not for his own sake, then for ensuring his family remained alive for just one more day.

The Skulls froze.

Then they recoiled from the vehicle like they were the ones afraid. Their gazes seemed distant, no longer focused on the BvS-10 or anyone inside. Backward they crawled, parting for Mokri and his men as they drove through.

Had his prayers been answered?

A glance around the BvS-10 showed the Skulls’ sudden change in behavior had nothing to do with divine intervention. No, his saviors were the very demons that had just slaughtered the lone survivor in a French village.

The Hybrids stood or sat in place as if in a trance. Their eyes had glazed over, and their bodies were, for once, still. Gone were the shakes and snarls. No more menacing growls or flaring nostrils. Just utter concentration, enough to make a Tibetan monk jealous. A torrent of rain pounded the ground. Lightning crackled in the distance, followed by deafening thunder. Still the Hybrids did not waver as they maintained their hold over the witless Skulls.

At last, they reached another clearing. There they found a complex of buildings. Guard towers stretched into the ominous sky. Now all that stood between them and their goal was a chain-link gate.

“Go through it,” Mokri ordered.

The BvS-10 crushed the gate, and they accelerated toward the center of the compound. Then a new sound erupted around them, one that broke the trance of the Hybrids: gunfire. Bullets sparked along the armor plating of the vehicle and cracked against the bulletproof glass.

Mokri had been expecting resistance, but the rattle of rounds still sent a surge of adrenaline flooding through his body. The Takavar and Hybrid units jostled in the rear of the vehicle, their gear clanging together as they positioned themselves near the exits.

“The facility is straight ahead,” the driver said.

“Good,” Mokri said. “Tear those doors down.”

The roar of the engine rose in a throaty crescendo as the treads dug into the wet earth. Lightning and gunfire flashed outside. Then with a crash, a cloud of dust billowed around them. The hatches of the BvS-10 exploded open, and the Hybrids and the Takavar poured out. Their weapons opened up to answer the chattering volley from the Frenchmen guarding this precious facility. The guards stood no chance. The initial line of defense was shattered before Mokri’s boots touched the ground.

He led his men on a wave of death deep into the facility. The people inside the building hadn’t had a chance to prepare for this. Most simply ran, allowing their backs to be riddled with bullets. Others tried to fight back with the odd sidearm or, in one noble but foolish man’s case, a steel pipe.

But the body armor of the Takavar soldiers and the plates of the Hybrids absorbed nearly everything the French threw at them.

“No witnesses! No prisoners!” Semenov cried as he plunged his claws through the throat of a hapless man in a white coat. When the claws came out, they held the ropy remnants of what Mokri assumed was the man’s larynx.

They pushed forward through a makeshift barricade. The Hybrids used themselves as living battering rams, making short work of the stainless-steel tables and wooden chairs meant to slow them. Urgent voices sounded from an adjacent room. Mokri rushed it with a few of the Takavar.

Inside, a man held a handset attached to a radio. He kept yelling into it even as his eyes locked onto Mokri’s. His voice never stopped until Mokri put a bullet through the man’s forehead. The radio broke into static. No one answered the man’s desperate pleas, and Mokri rejoined the others in the hall.

They surged deeper into the complex. The cries of Skulls, no longer held back by the Hybrids, echoed through the halls. No prisoners, no survivors. They would finish what Mokri had started.

But despite the bodies that now lay bleeding on the floor, it was not just destruction that Mokri had come to reap. No, there was something here, deep within the facility, that Spitkovsky had charged him to retrieve.

When the remnants of the French defenses fell, there was only one more door between Mokri and what he had come for. He strode ahead of his men. Semenov stood beside the door, his chest heaving, blood still dripping from his claws. The sinister grin had become a permanent fixture on his face, seeming to grow wider with each kill. He wrapped his claws around the door handle as if to open it, but Mokri waved him off.

It was important he go first. He had to lead these men to victory. To the very thing that would change the course of this war. The gift he needed to ensure Spitkovsky would return his family.

With an exhale, Mokri pushed on the door. The mechanized hinges did the rest of the work. Another set of security doors was revealed beyond, requiring the concerted efforts of explosives and electronics to break through. And when Mokri led them into that last chamber, they found themselves inside a sterile metal chamber. The few guards and technicians inside went down in a storm of bullets and claws. In the center of the room was a large metal sphere with markings on it that were all too familiar to Mokri.

This was it. He had found his prize, and may Allah have mercy on his soul.

-16-

Meredith massaged her forehead. A passing storm hammered the Huntress with a torrential downpour. A headache was beginning to take seed behind her eyes. She blamed it on the pressure changes from the mercurial weather.

But it was more than that. Her headache had more to do with internal pressures and annoyances. She traced her finger over the map Ronaldo had given her. Spitkovsky and the FGL were planning something. Sure, they might attack Washington, DC. But that wasn’t all they were up to.

It couldn’t be.

She was no master strategist, but she had a hard time believing that the FGL was going to send everything they had at one American city and leave Europe behind. While they’d been drifting in the Atlantic, patrolling close to France, Spain, and Portugal, she’d contacted Alizia Mudimbe back in the Congo. Their newfound ally had reported that, despite the destruction of the facility there and the Titans within it, her group had still seen FGL activity in the area.

Something was definitely going on.

A red light suddenly glared from Chao’s desk, followed by a chirp. Meredith jumped in her seat, knocking over one of the Watchmen figurines that had belonged to the workstation’s previous owner. Gingerly, she replaced Adam’s toy on his desk then joined Chao.

He listened to something. Then with a flick of his wrist, he motioned to Samantha. She gave him a quizzical look.

“Translations!” he said.

She tapped on her keyboard, and the monitors at the front of the workshop sparked to life. The speakers let out a scratchy voice speaking what sounded to Meredith like French. Memories of the language swirled through her mind from when she’d studied it in high school, but they weren’t sufficient to understand what the voice was saying. What she could understand was the desperation in the rapid staccato of words.

Then the natural language processing program Samantha had worked on took hold.

The message, though slightly butchered by the computerized translation, was clear: There was a land-based attack underway on a French military base. Though Chao had recovered the approximate location of the base, the radio operator had been silenced before he could give them anything more.

The last few moments of the transmission, however, were most telling to Meredith. The operator reported “men who look like Skulls carrying guns.”

If Hybrids were involved, she knew who was responsible. She paged Dom over the ship’s comms. He answered almost immediately, and she filled him in on the attack while she studied a map of the area where the broadcast had originated.

“If we move now, we might intercept them,” she said.

“This has to be part of whatever the FGL’s planning,” Dom replied. “Chao, send out a drone. Then tell Kinsey what’s up. We’re heading out.”

It didn’t take long for the Hunters to assemble at Frank’s waiting Seahawk. Soon they were over the Atlantic and soaring along the French shore. Meredith’s heart hammered as a forest spread beneath them. According to her map, there should be little towns dotted all along the coast. But between the dense cloud cover and the pounding rain, it was near impossible to make them out. She might as well have been looking down on Europe as it was in the Middle Ages for all the signs of life she saw below.

“Where do you all want me to drop you off?” Frank asked.

Dom called back to the Huntress. “Chao, anything to report from the drone?”

“Yes, Captain,” Chao replied. “We identified a set of tread tracks leading toward what looks like a military compound in the area. There were flashes of gunfire. Made it pretty easy to find. I’m sending Frank the coordinates now.”

“Got it.” Frank gave them a thumbs-up, and the chopper banked hard toward their destination.

“The area’s hot,” Chao said, “and they’re going to have no problem seeing the chopper, even in this rain. I’m suggesting a drop-off point based on our sweep.”

Soon Frank brought the chopper down in a field near a small village. Miguel took point as the others filed out. The roar of the chopper’s engine drew out the Skulls lurking nearby in the forest. The first one came tumbling through the brush. Water sluiced off its spikes and the remains of a thoroughly soaked pair of jeans. Talons sprouted out of its ragged rubber boots.

A fisherman in his prior life? It didn’t matter now. A few suppressed shots from Meredith’s rifle sent the thing into the wet soil, kicking up mud as it died.

“Move out!” Dom said.

The helicopter took off as soon as the Hunters disembarked. More Skulls sprinted toward them from the woods. Meredith and the others did not hesitate. Soon, the Hunters were winding through the village. Meredith imagined it had once been a picturesque place to enjoy a cappuccino and a pastry at the small coffee shop. Maybe buy a loaf of fresh bread at the bakery farther down the cobblestone street.

Now the street was covered in bones and scraps of decaying flesh. Shell casings rolled around beneath the Hunters’ boots, and bullet holes marred the walls of the cottages and storefronts. Shards of glass reflected the lightning breaking the dark sky. Dead Skulls lay against the buildings like trash bags that would never be picked up. The odor of wet earth mixed with that of carrion.

They continued through the town until they hit another pathway that took them through the woods. The sound of rain hitting the leaves made it difficult to hear any approaching Skulls. Gooseflesh prickled over Meredith’s arms as the cold water seeped into her fatigues.

A growl sounded off to her right, and she twisted, aiming her rifle into the shadows between trees. She couldn’t see anything, but the bushes in front of her rustled with the sound of a predator preparing to ambush prey. Before she could fire, shots exploded from behind her, followed by the crack of bullets hitting bone plates.

O’Neil lowered his rifle. “Sensed it before I saw it.”

“Powerful weapon you’ve got there,” Meredith said.

“Rifle’s same as yours.”

“That’s not what I meant. Can you tell how many Hybrids there are out there?”

“Not quite,” O’Neil said. “But I can tell they’re still around.”

The Hunters leapt over the fallen trees and skirted between abandoned vehicles, following the road toward the military compound. The spark of distant gunfire drew Meredith’s attention.

“There!” she yelled.

They crept to the edge of the forest. A scene of carnage appeared before them. Fresh shivers raced through Meredith’s flesh, and this time they weren’t from the cold. Dead soldiers lay sprawled across the grass. Some kind of vehicle had rammed into the front door of the complex. A chain-link fence and gate lay useless in the puddles accumulating in potholes and ditches. Skulls covered damn near everything.

One soldier who wasn’t quite dead fired on an approaching monster. In a matter of seconds, he disappeared under a mass of claws and bone plates. His agonized screams exploded amid the thunderstorm for the briefest of moments.

“Jesus,” Miguel said. “How we going to get through all that?”

“Not to mention the Hybrids and whatever else is inside that building,” Spencer said.

“O’Neil?” Dom asked.

“I can try,” he said. “But that’s a shitload of Skulls.”

“Do what you can,” Dom said. “We need to get in there. Whatever the FGL wants here, they can’t have it.”

O’Neil closed his eyes. The muscles in his jaw bulged as his teeth clenched together. The Skulls in the field gorged on the dead and dying soldiers.

“We got any idea what this place is?” Meredith asked.

Chao answered. “If what I have here is correct, you’re at the Centre d’études scientifiques et techniques d’Aquitaine, or Cesta for short. Some kind of weapons research facility. Samantha and I are digging into it to see what else we can learn.”

The Skulls thronged at the entrance. It would be damn near suicide to push through them. She glanced at O’Neil. He was deep in concentration. The Skulls were still crawling over the facility in a chaotic jumble of skeletal bodies. Meredith squinted. Maybe, just maybe, they were moving slower now.

Soon O’Neil started to quiver. Blood dripped out of his nostrils.

“O’Neil!” Dom said.

The Hybrid didn’t respond. His eyelids opened, and his eyes rolled back into his head. His claws clenched, scraping against the bony plates on his wrist. Vessels bulged against his exposed skin.

Meredith crept toward him as his muscles shook. Now blood was dripping from the corners of his mouth. His eyes pulsated.

“O’Neil!” Dom said again.

But still the man did not respond. This wasn’t right. He looked like he was in pain. Meredith grabbed his wrist. All at once, his eyes focused on her. A crimson sheen of blood rolled across them. His lips drew back into a snarl. His fangs dripped with saliva like a rabid animal. He pulled back his hand from Meredith and shot out with the other. She barely dodged the slicing claw. Then O’Neil drew back again.

“Mere!” Dom sprinted toward her, but he was too far away.

But instead of stepping back again, she ducked under O’Neil’s blow. She lowered her shoulder and slammed into his chest, knocking him backward. O’Neil’s head cracked against a tree, and he collapsed. The scarlet in his eyes faded. Meredith held his neck with one hand and secured one of his wrists with her other.

She felt his muscles relax. His eyes locked with hers. The rage of animalistic fury no longer radiated from them, replaced by something else. Shame.

“I... I...” he stammered.

The other Hunters circled them. Meredith saw their stances out of the corner of her eye. They weren’t aiming their guns at him. But they hadn’t lowered them, either. Meredith let go. O’Neil brushed himself off then stood. With the back of his hand, he wiped the blood from his nostrils.

“They’re so strong. So goddamn strong.” He stared at the blood on his bone-plated hand, then he looked up. His eyes caught Meredith’s. “The Hybrids here are controlling the Skulls.”

“But the Skulls are going wild,” Meredith said. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s controlling them.”

O’Neil exhaled. “That’s exactly the way they want it to look.”

-17-

Dom’s aim wandered over the Skulls running rampant through the base. He could scarcely believe they were under the Hybrids’ control. But of course they were. The Skulls were as ravenous and ferocious as ever. The only difference from usual was that they were being specifically directed at the French resistance—and anyone else who might stand in the FGL’s way.

“There’s no way we’re getting through there,” Dom said. “We’re going around back. Stay alert and stay alive.”

The Hunters filtered back through the forest. Stray Skulls got in their way, but their screams and shrieks were muted by the downpour and the crack of thunder. Bullets shut them up permanently.

“There.” Dom pointed to a section of fence where only a half dozen Skulls were milling about. “Miguel, Jenna, cut us a way through. Glenn, Spencer, watch their backs. Everyone else, on me. Form a perimeter to keep an escape route clear. Go!”

Miguel and Jenna sprinted to the fence. They withdrew bolt cutters from their packs and began snipping at the first layer of fences. With the snap of the wire, the nearest Skulls lunged in their direction. Glenn and Spencer dispatched them one at a time.

Another monster careened out of the darkness. Dom aimed, catching the center of the creature’s mass in his sights. Three shots sent the Skull sprawling. It tumbled over itself, sliding in the rain.

“Clear, Chief!” Miguel called. “Let’s go join the party!”

The Hunters rushed through the freshly cut hole in the fence. It had no doubt once been electrified, but the FGL must’ve already sabotaged what was left of Cesta’s defenses.

“Andris, your turn,” Dom said.

“It would be my pleasure,” Andris said, his accent thick through the comm link. The former French Foreign Legionnaire rushed to a set of thick steel doors. He placed a thermite charge around the locking mechanism and along the hinges of the door. “Fire in the hole!”

White sparks exploded from the door, tearing through the metal and melting it into glowing red slag. Raindrops hissed as they hit the heated metal. With a tug from Andris, one of the doors gave way.

“Miguel, Jenna, take point,” Dom said. “Spencer, Glenn, rearguard. Doors and corners, team, doors and corners!”

The group fell in line, surging into the dark building. The chilly air sent its cold deep through Dom’s wet flesh and into his muscles and bones. The space was lit up in a collage of greens and blacks thanks to his NVGs. The team heeded his advice, slowly working their way past the multitude of doors and blind intersections within the facility. The sound of pounding rain faded the deeper they went, replaced by the boom of automatic gunfire. Each blast set Dom’s nerves on fire. They were drawing closer to the FGL.

Dom crept beside O’Neil. “Can you sense them?”

O’Neil nodded. “They’re down there. Still trying to control the Skulls.”

“You going to be okay?” he asked, afraid of the answer. They couldn’t afford another episode like the one outside.

“I will,” O’Neil said, “but I can’t try controlling the Skulls again. That makes me vulnerable, opens me up to their influence. There are too many in here for me to fight off.”

“Understood,” Dom said. “I won’t ask you again until we know those Hybrids are gone.”

As O’Neil turned away, Dom caught a flash of an expression on his face. Not quite weakness, but regret. When the former SEAL felt he had failed his team, he took it hard, but the moment passed quickly, and his face once more returned to a stern skeletal mask.

“We got contacts!” Miguel hissed over the comms.

The others pressed into alcoves and shadows. The sound of talons tapping against the floor came first, followed by shapes sprinting down the corridor. It was impossible to tell if they were Hybrids or Skulls. Either way, they would be on the team in seconds, and if they retreated, they would lose any element of surprise.

“Hold your fire,” Dom whispered into the comms. “Wait until my mark.”

The bony shapes of the attackers came into full view now. They were definitely Skulls. They ran like a pack of wolves that had spotted prey. But why were they heading in this direction? All the gunfire deeper within the facility should’ve attracted them, not sent them fleeing.

The monsters clattered toward them, now close enough Dom imagined he could smell their rancid breath. He counted at least a dozen. When he was certain there was no way they could miss, he levied his command. “Fire.”

Armor-piercing rounds punched through the Skulls’ bone plates. Mists of blood and flesh burst from their wounds. The beasts crashed into each other. Before they even hit the ground, Dom set the team moving again.

“That was no accident,” Meredith said. “They’ve got to know we’re here.”

Miguel gave Spencer a suspicious look. “I told you to shower, bro.”

The joke earned a round of nervous laughter from the others, but it fell flat against O’Neil’s self-recrimination.

“I screwed this up,” O’Neil said. “When I tried to settle those Skulls outside, the Hybrids must’ve realized I was here. There’s no way they missed that chemical garbage I was spewing.”

More Skulls shrieked throughout the halls. The sound of tapping talons sounded everywhere, giving Dom the eerie sensation they were being surrounded.

“They know someone is here,” Dom said. “We’re going to need to make this quick. Miguel, lead on.”

The gunfire became more sporadic. Occasionally they were forced to duck into the shadows or hide when another group of Skulls hurtled through the corridors.

O’Neil shivered beside Dom.

“Talk to me,” Dom said. “What do you sense?”

“We’re getting closer,” he replied through gritted teeth.

Soon they crossed a corridor strewn with the corpses of Skulls and humans alike. Bullet casings lay in puddles of blood. Bits of flesh and bone were splashed against the walls. By the looks of the humans’ uniforms, they were the French soldiers, scientists, and workers assigned to this facility.

“Looks like we found where the FGL went,” Jenna said.

They prowled through the macabre scene. A tingling at the back of his neck tugged at Dom. What in God’s name were they walking into?

“Chao,” Dom whispered over the comms. “I think we’re getting close. Got better intel on Cesta now?”

“We’re digging through some stuff, and well, it’s worse than we thought.”

“Weapons research, right?”

“Right,” Chao said. “Thing is, the weapons they worked on there were a bit out of our league. Captain, we’re talking about nuclear weapons.”

Dom stopped, his blood freezing in his veins. “Nukes, Chao? We’ve got nukes here?”

“That’s correct.”

The odor of death had grown stronger the deeper they’d traveled into this facility, and the scent of cordite and blood hung heavy in the air. But all that faded at Chao’s words.

“You’ve alerted Kinsey?” Dom asked.

“I will now.”

“Christ,” Meredith said. “You think this might be what they’re sending to DC? Not just Skull armies, but a goddamn nuke?”

“Are we sure that’s what they’re after?” Spencer asked. “I mean, shouldn’t Spitkovsky already have access to them?”

Glenn peered around a corner. “Iran’s nuclear capabilities were castrated diplomatically long before the outbreak. And Spitkovsky was thrown in prison by the Russian government. He wouldn’t have access to their nuclear arms prior to the outbreak, and my guess would be that he still doesn’t have easy access to them now.”

“If they’re trying to get nuclear materials out of here, we can’t let them,” Dom said. “O’Neil, we getting close?”

“Definitely,” O’Neil said, nostrils flaring.

They rounded down another hall that opened into a much larger chamber. More bodies lay everywhere. They looked like they were still warm. At one end was a massive door, forced open, revealing what once must’ve been a highly secured weapons-grade research laboratory beyond. All manner of warning signs were plastered at the entrance to the laboratory with the all-too-familiar radiation hazard sign standing out among the rest. Black singe marks from explosives marred the wall and the edges of the door.

Voices echoed out in harsh Russian. They were still there. Dom might still have a chance to stop them.

He waved Jenna and Miguel to the door. The others positioned themselves on the perimeter, sticking to the shadows. Red light bled from the entrance, not unlike the battle lights of the Huntress’s cargo hold, making their NVGs no longer necessary.

“We’ve got to be damn careful in there,” Dom said. “Do not fire unless you know you’ve got a shot. I do not want to hit something that makes the whole place go boom.”

A flurry of affirmatives whispered back over the comms. Dom crept to the edge of the massive opening. Inside was a chamber that looked like it was coated in stainless steel. Huge, drumlike structures sprouted from the paneled floor, and a latticework of pipes hung overhead. In the center of the room was a donut-shaped catwalk surrounding some kind of isolated chamber. A few figures circled it, peering into an opening at the top. Others crept along the walls, yanking open storage containers and tool chests.

“I got nine contacts, Chief,” Miguel said. “Hard to believe this little group caused that big ol’ mess out there.”

“Seems odd,” Dom agreed. There had to be more around here somewhere. “Miguel, Jenna, Spencer, take the left side. Meredith, Andris, Glenn, right. O’Neil and I will go center. Let’s do this quietly and quickly. Take all these bastards out. They aren’t leaving with anything today. Go!”

They dispersed through the room like ghosts, homing in on the shadows and blind spots. Dom lunged up a steel staircase toward the catwalk where three men—rather, two Hybrids and one man—were patrolling. O’Neil followed, lunging up the steps with surprising litheness for a body covered in bony armor. When they reached the top, Dom went low. He prowled toward the Hybrid nearest him. O’Neil targeted the next.

This was too goddamned easy.

Dom shot a hand signal to O’Neil. The Hybrid nodded back. They were ready to pounce. Dom strapped his rifle over his back and exchanged it for his suppressed pistol. For what he was about to do, the rifle would be overkill. The last thing he wanted was armor-piercing rounds flying around this laboratory.

His fingers stretched against the barrel of the pistol in a subtle gesture. O’Neil’s eyes flashed at the three fingers. Dom counted down.

Three.

The Hybrid before him shifted. The spikes along his back bristled.

Two.

The sole normal human tapped on one of the monitors, causing both Hybrids to look at the screen.

One.

Dom shot upward, and he wrapped one arm around the first Hybrid’s neck. O’Neil’s target stared at Dom. The Hybrid’s eyes went wide just before O’Neil grabbed his neck.

Pressing the barrel of his pistol to the side of the Hybrid’s head, Dom squeezed the trigger. Blood sprayed from the wound, and Dom squeezed again. The Hybrid fell slack in Dom’s arm. The human FGL soldier whipped up his submachine gun. His eyes were wild with shock.

Dom was quicker. He plugged the man in the chest, and the soldier collapsed, dropping his rifle. At the same time, O’Neil plunged his claws into the flesh of his Hybrid’s chin. Blood surged from the wound, splashing over them both. He dug deeper until his victim’s eyes rolled back.

All across the room, the same splash of blood and whoosh of suppressed gunfire sounded. Soon all Dom heard was the hushed breathing of the Hunters over his comm link.

“Contacts?” he asked.

“Dispatched,” Meredith reported.

“Clear, Chief,” Miguel said.

“Good. We’re clear up here, too,” Dom said. “Glenn, Spencer, secure the door. The rest of you, see what damage these bastards have already done.” Dom brushed his fingers over the console the FGL soldier had been examining. “Huntress, Dom here. Weapons research room appears to be clear.”

“This isn’t right.” O’Neil hadn’t lowered his rifle. His eyes searched the room.

Dom wanted to ask him what he meant. But his mouth went dry. He saw now what the Hybrids and the other soldier had been studying. The isolation canister in the center hole of the donut-shaped chamber was wide open. He didn’t have to read French now to see what that enormous canister had once held. Among the French words etched into the metal, he saw the abbreviation U-235. Dom remembered his periodic table well enough to know what that meant.

Uranium. Highly enriched uranium.

“Son of a bitch,” Dom said. “They already got it. What do we need to look for, Chao?”

“From what I can gather, the warheads there would’ve been similar to the French TN81 warheads. They weigh just a few hundred kilograms, so it wouldn’t be a problem for a bunch of Hybrids to cart them out.”

Dom felt like a knife was twisting into his stomach. The TN81 had a yield of anywhere from one hundred to three hundred kilotons, nearly twenty times the power of the bomb dropped over Hiroshima. If the FGL was planning to load the warheads onto some missiles of their own, he dreaded what would happen.

“They haven’t left yet,” O’Neil said. “The Hybrids in here may be dead, but—”

One of the radios buzzed. A Russian voice said something. There was a brief pause before the voice called again. And without an answer, the voice chimed in more frantically. All the radios on the dead FGL human and Hybrids in the room started going off. The Hunters looked to each other.

“We’ve been found out,” Glenn said, translating for them. “They’re spooked. They’ve got what they want, and now they’re going to bail before any reinforcements arrive.”

The thought of reinforcements was ludicrous. Their closest allies were in the Azores. There would be no one here to back up Dom and his crew.

A crash of shrieking voices exploded through the entrance. Skulls. O’Neil began shaking. The Hybrids must have been spewing their pheromone cocktail into the air, inciting their Skull brethren to fight. The rattle of bones and click of talons reverberated through the weapons lab. It sounded like damn near a hundred Skulls were charging into battle.

He had no doubt where that horde of Skulls was headed.

-18-

Lauren marveled at the research papers and protocols strewn before her on the lab table. They described the intricate processes to take the small molecule—the Phoenix Compound—her team had developed and expanded those methods for wide-scale manufacturing.

“If all goes well, it might be a few weeks before we can scale up production to start distribution in Germany,” Emma Fischer, one of the lead production scientists, said. The woman snapped off her blue nitrile gloves. “It will just take a few months to produce enough Phoenix Compound to treat all of Germany’s citizens. Then we can expand to other countries throughout the EU.”

Emma’s blond hair swung behind her head in a ponytail as she excitedly pointed out the steps of the manufacturing process. But Lauren’s mind was somewhere else. A few months. With a new FGL attack imminent, she wondered if the world could survive a few more months against the Oni Agent.

“Are you familiar with synthetic biology?” Emma asked, breaking Lauren from her trance.

“I am,” Lauren said.

“Me, too,” Navid said, “but I’m definitely not an expert.”

“It’s a relatively popular technique in biotechnology,” Emma said. “Basically, we use genetic engineering to reprogram harmless bacteria. We insert a piece of DNA, and that DNA will be transcribed by the bacteria just like any other DNA fragment. Only this will code for the Phoenix Compound. As the bacteria go through their normal metabolic cycle, they’ll be producing the Phoenix Compound.”

“Sounds very similar to what the groups in the US are doing,” Navid said.

“Yes, it is,” Lauren said, “but they’re using mammalian cells instead of bacteria.”

“Right,” Emma said. “The bacteria are much more efficient.” She snapped her fingers. “Very quick, too. This is why we will beat them in production.”

“And the bacteria you’re using are really robust enough to produce the compound?” Navid asked.

Emma gave Navid a condescending smile. “Synthetic biology has revolutionized biotechnology. Before the outbreak, there were companies that produced everything from lactose-free dairy products to fake rhino horns to flood the black market, all using materials produced by these bacteria.”

“Okay, okay,” Navid said, holding up his hands.

“So each of these bacteria will be a little factory,” Lauren summarized.

“They will work twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week without rest.” Emma patted a microscope. “Come. See this.”

Lauren peered into the eyepieces. Thousands upon thousands of translucent, oval-shaped bacteria squirmed against a yellow agar plate. Around them were clumps of dark pellets. “Is that the Phoenix Compound they’re depositing?”

“That is exactly right,” Emma said. “Since the compound is much smaller than the bacteria, it is very easy for us to filter it out, so we will constantly be harvesting it as we go.”

“I see.” Lauren leaned back from the microscope to let Navid have a look. “What about the coating we developed to get the Phoenix Compound past the blood-brain barrier? Will you be using the same techniques to produce it?”

“Yes,” Emma said. “About half our facilities will be set up to make the coating, and the other half, the compound.”

“It’s all very efficient,” Lauren said. “But we’re pinning our hopes for Europe onto this one facility. That seems pretty dangerous to me.”

“Yeah,” Navid said. “I mean, I didn’t think power was exactly reliable during the apocalypse. Back in America, they have multiple facilities around the country getting up and running. One power outage could knock out your whole facility. You lose power, then you might get temperature raises or drops, or a massive pH shift in the cell cultures. All the cells would die. If that happens, the facility would have to completely ramp up production again, grow a new batch of cells, and restart the synthesis process.”

“Of course this is all true,” Emma said. “But bacteria are much more stable than mammalian cells. We may only have one facility up and running, as you say, but it is more reliable than ten of yours.”

Lauren wasn’t so sure about that, but Emma didn’t sound like she was being arrogant for the sake of ego. The scientist simply believed in the superiority of their methods. Time would tell if she was right.

“And when are we doing our first quality control tests to make sure this synthetic biology stuff is up to snuff?” Lauren asked.

“Right now, if you’re ready,” Emma replied, fishing in her lab coat’s pocket. She pulled out a few vials. Each held several milligrams of a fluffy white powder.

“Whoa,” Navid said. “That was fast.”

Lauren fought to hide her astonishment. For some reason, she found herself not wanting to give Emma the satisfaction. “We’ll get on it immediately,” she said.

“That is why we brought you here.” She gave Lauren a suspiciously sly smile. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Her white coat fluttered as she departed the lab.

Lauren rotated the vials between her fingers. “This is insane. They’ve already made this from the template compound we provided. Think of everything they did to get there.”

“They fully characterized the Phoenix Compound then broke it down, probably molecule by molecule. They would have needed to figure out the right DNA template that translated to the Phoenix Compound and then insert that DNA sample into a primary culture of bacteria.” His eyes met Lauren’s. “They’ve got this down to a science. No pun intended, of course.”

Lauren offered a weak laugh, but what Navid said struck a chord with her. “If they’re so efficient, then why are we here?”

Navid took one of the samples from Lauren and started to dissolve it into an aqueous solution for chromatographic analysis. “Plenty of geniuses here to go around.”

Lauren lowered her voice, eying the other scientists in the room. “I’m serious. Why are we here?”

Navid deposited one of the vials into a tray inside the high-performance liquid chromatography machine. His eyes widened. “They can probably make the Phoenix Compound even better than we could ever hope to. They could improve it on their own if they wanted.”

“Exactly,” Lauren said. “They told Kinsey they wanted the creators of the Phoenix Compound. But they don’t need us.” Suddenly Lauren’s mind turned back to the biopsy samples she’d taken from O’Neil. Her stomach twisted with uncertainty—and fear. What if their new German colleagues wanted something more than their help with the Phoenix Compound?

***

“They’re getting away with goddamn nuclear warheads!” Dom bellowed, rushing down the steps toward the exit. “Do not let them escape!”

Heat flushed through him, reinvigorating his muscles and narrowing his vision. There was no longer any need for stealth. Not that they had a choice. The hundreds of Skulls roaring through the hallways had made that quite clear. The FGL was ensuring no one would follow their escape.

But Dom was determined to prove the bastards wrong.

“Form up on me,” Dom said, jogging out of the lab and into the first corridor. Red emergency lights glowed in the darkened corridors, giving the place a ghoulish appearance. “We’re shooting our way out of here.” Jenna and Miguel took point. Andris and O’Neil joined them, and Glenn and Spencer fell into rear guard. Meredith stood beside him, reloading her SCAR-H. “Chao, you got a drone in the area?”

“Not yet,” he replied. “I can have one in your position in ten minutes.”

“Do it,” Dom said. “I don’t want to lose sight of these assholes. Frank, you stick close to them. Follow them until we get the drone back in position.”

“On it like a fat kid on cake,” Frank replied over the comms.

“Chief!” Miguel yelled. “We got company.”

Illuminated by the scarlet emergency lights, the first Skull barreling down the hall looked like something that had crawled straight out of Hell. Its horns hooked up like a bull’s, and its shoulder blades had grown wide, making it look like a beetle’s carapace. Long ropes of saliva swung from its fanged maw. Hunched down and charging, it let out a battle cry. The voices of its brethren responded in kind.

Miguel opened fire. Bullets smashed into the charging Skull. Bone chips flew, and blood spattered across the wall, immediately turning the corridor into a murder scene. Still the Skull somehow carried on, propelled by momentum and anger. One of its arms hung limp.

“Die, you ugly piece of shit!” Jenna sent more rounds punching through the Skull’s armor and into its chest. A high-pitched scream escaped its lips before the Skull fell face-first and slid toward their feet.

Finally, it was dead. But the clatter of claws echoed through the winding passages.

“Exit’s that way!” Glenn said, pointing at a sign written in French.

“You got it, bro!” Miguel said, peering around a corner. He unleashed a volley into another pair of Skulls.

Shrieks sounded from behind the group. Dom helped Glenn and Spencer slow a group of five Skulls. The hail of lead beat down the first three. Their bodies crunched under the feet of the other two. One lunged, desperate to close the distance between it and Spencer. Spencer brought his rifle up in time to blast three rounds straight through its chattering jaws. Teeth and tongue blew away in a gory spray.

“To your right!” Andris called.

Dom swiveled. In another wide corridor, six more Skulls careened from the darkness. Meredith let loose a barrage of bullets with Andris and O’Neil. Dom joined in. The monsters fell in waves. But every time they destroyed one group, another appeared. Skulls poured in from every corridor, slowing their progress. They followed the signs toward the exit with increasing desperation. Everywhere they stepped became slick with Skull blood, and bullet casings rolled under the red lights.

Dom was starting to feel claustrophobic in the dark, twisting halls of the weapons research facility. But escaping the building didn’t guarantee safety. Far from it, in fact. More Skulls would be waiting for them outside. Only God knew what else was out there.

God... and maybe Frank.

“You got a visual, Frank?” Dom called between breaths.

“It’s dark as a Skull’s soul out here,” Frank said. “And the trees are making it even more difficult. I can see some heading your way. But no sign of—ah! There we go. Got some people running against the tide of Skulls. Looks like Hybrids among them, too.”

“FGL?” Dom asked.

“Got to be,” Frank said. “The Skulls are parting around them. They’re acting like the people aren’t even there...”

Frank trailed off, but his words gave Dom chills. Skulls parting around people. These Hybrids were monumentally strong.

“They’re getting into some kind of vehicle now,” Frank said. “And there it is. They’re loading something into the back.”

“That’s got to be our missing warheads,” Dom said. “Don’t let them get away!”

“I’ll do my best,” Frank said. “But I sure could use you guys with some guns up here to help me convince them to stay put.”

Dom didn’t respond. Instead, he fired into another swarm of Skulls clogging the hallway. The monsters pressed against each other, growling and snapping in their feverish pursuit of a fresh meal. Their bones clashed together with violent, jarring scrapes. When one fell, the others churned over it, pushing through the halls like flooding water.

“I see it,” Miguel cried over the roaring Skulls. “There’s the exit!”

Lightning flashed, piercing the broken windows at the end of the corridor. Skulls climbed through like overgrown lizards. Where they came from, there would be more. Even if they broke through the ranks of these Skulls, others would overwhelm them.

Dom searched the corridors for another exit. There had to be a better way out. But all the halls were filling with Skulls now. There was nothing to do but push forward. Above the clamor of the monsters rose another noise. One that sent a shockwave of desperation tearing through Dom.

The sound of an engine roaring to life.

“Frank, are they taking off?” Dom asked.

“Yes,” Frank said, not a trace of humor left in his voice. “They’re headed west.”

“Follow them,” Dom said. “Do not let them out of your sight.”

“Captain, you guys are going to need air support,” Frank said.

“Frank, you follow them until the drone arrives. We are not letting them get away. We’ll survive until you return. That’s what we goddamn do.”

The Skulls at the front of the pack hurtled over the layers of dead monsters at their feet. Miguel responded by letting loose a spray of acid from his prosthetic. The acid tore into the beasts, eating through their armor plates. The odor of singed flesh joined the rot leaching off the Skulls. Writhing beasts fell to the floor, swatting impotently at the acid splashed across them.

Another blast of thunder rolled over the facility. Rainwater rushed in through the broken windows. The water mixed with the red of the Skulls’ blood, making the floor slick.

“More of the bastards are coming from behind!” Spencer shouted.

“Keep pushing forward!” Dom commanded. “We’ve got to punch through!”

“FGL is on their way through the forest,” Frank said. “Headed straight for the bay.”

With guns and blades—and in O’Neil’s case, claws—they cut a swathe through the Skulls toward the exit. Glass shards glimmered in the near-constant lightning. The doors had been torn away, and parts of the wall hung from bent structural supports. Electric wiring and pipes jutted from the damage like exposed nerves and blood vessels. This was where the FGL had forced their way into the facility. Like everything they did, it had been violent, forsaking patience and discretion for ruthlessness and speed.

The voices of the Hunters rang out in concert with the ringing gunfire and shrieking Skulls. Dom’s vision became tunneled, focused on his sights. His rifle lingered on a Skull long enough to ensure he sent a three-round burst of bullets through it before he moved on to the next.

The beasts’ intellects were vastly limited by the damage done to their brains by the Oni Agent. It made predicting their behavior simple, especially with the experience the Hunters had. That didn’t mean it was easy. Still, they pushed through the mob of angry Skulls and emerged outside. Thunder ravaged Dom’s eardrums. Rain fell in sheets, and the sky split with lightning, illuminating the other ragged Skulls descending on Cesta. Most of them sprinted straight at Dom and the Hunters like the desperate, starving animals they were.

But there was one that did not. One that stood amid them, arms outstretched like a god among its worshipers.

A Hybrid.

“Kill him!” Dom raged. “Kill the Hybrid!”

The Hybrid laughed. The sound sent an icy wave through Dom more chilling than the rain.

Then he saw what the Hybrid had done. Two enormous beasts, each the size of a tank, barreled past him. It wasn’t just the thunder that had been rumbling through Cesta. It was a pair of Goliaths.

The behemoths trampled smaller Skulls as they ran. Their eyes blazed in the flash of the lightning, and water poured over their cracked, yellowed plates. Bullets pinged against their armor as the beasts stormed straight for the Hunters.

-19-

Somewhere behind the Goliaths, the Hybrid disappeared into the surrounding trees. Meredith hoped it was so he could catch up with the rest of his crew. Maybe these Goliaths were the only surprise he had in store for the Hunters.

“Miguel, O’Neil, Glenn, on me!” Dom bellowed. “We’ll take that one. Everyone else, get the other one!”

“Gladly,” Andris said leveling his rifle at the second Goliath. He unleashed a torrent of rounds into the thing’s chest. Some of the rounds connected with the bulging gray flesh between its plates, and the Goliath turned. It opened its tusked maw and let out a rolling howl. Hot, rancid air washed over the group.

Meredith used that moment to her advantage. The red roof of the creature’s mouth was just visible in her sights. She squeezed the trigger, and her bullets found their target.

The Goliath’s teeth snapped shut with a violent crack, and its head swiveled atop its hulking body. The monster lowered its shoulders and altered its trajectory once more, careening straight at Meredith. Blood streamed from its cracked lips and splattered over its chest.

“Andris,” Meredith said, “time for some fire.”

“I like the sound of that.” Andris let his rifle fall to his side, catching on its strap. He dug through his tac vest and retrieved a chunk of C4. “Keep him off me.”

“You got it!” Meredith let loose another burst. Several of the rounds cracked the horns brimming around the Goliath’s temples.

Dom and O’Neil were launching their own assault on the other Goliath, drawing it away from Cesta and toward the broken fence. Jenna and Spencer focused on holding back the smaller Skulls.

The Goliath roared again. Spittle roped from its mouth and splashed over Meredith. She was close enough that its voice slammed into her eardrums with palpable pain. From the corner of her eye, she saw Andris setting the fuse to his improvised explosive. The Goliath began to swing toward him, its huge fist scooping up a Skull. It let the monster fly.

“Andris!” Meredith yelled.

The squawking Skull tumbled through the air. Andris dove out of the monster’s path and hit the ground, rolling. He lost the C4 as the Skull smashed into the spot where he had been. The beast’s neck cracked beyond anatomical limits, and its limbs went still as it settled in the grass like a broken toy plane.

Andris tried to retrieve the explosive, but the Goliath was on him now. The thing’s huge fists cut through the air in wide, scything paths. It knocked away small trees and Skulls alike. One of the tumbling trees knocked Andris over.

Meredith watched in horror as the Goliath’s fist began to come down on Andris. She fired at the monster’s arm and shoulder and head, riddling its side with bullets. But nothing would keep the giant from its prey. All the times they had partnered up on missions flashed through her mind, from the Congo to Boston. He had always trusted her to have his back. And here he was about to be smashed like an insect, too far for her to do anything but shoot and pray.

Then she saw another figure. Someone that had been closer, keeping an eye on her and Andris the whole time.

Spencer.

He sprinted under the Goliath’s arm and grabbed Andris’s wrist. He yanked the man unceremoniously behind him. But it didn’t look like he had gotten out of the way in time. The Goliath gave the earth a ground-shaking fist pound, kicking up clods of dirt and grass.

“No!” Meredith fired at the Goliath, hoping to regain its attention. As Meredith distracted the Goliath, Jenna swooped in and scooped up the C4 Andris had dropped. The monster turned its focus away from Meredith once more, now enamored with the prey closer at hand.

Jenna was already running away from the Goliath. As she did, she tossed the C4 charge. Meredith caught it. The blasting cap was in place, but a cursory examination told her it wasn’t ready. It needed a detonator.

Andris had that. Wherever he was now. Her eyes searched the crater the Goliath had left behind. She hoped against hope she wouldn’t see her friends in that pit, smeared into the mud and roots.

But then she saw something that sparked renewed hope in her chest. Andris stood shakily and held up one hand.

The detonator.

They could set off the C4 after all. Beside him, Spencer pushed himself to his feet. He was limping, but at least he was moving. He fired at the other Skulls still weaseling through the fence and woods to surround them.

Meredith sprinted at the Goliath as it chased after Jenna. She fired on it as she did. Scattered bullets smashed against the huge spikes along its back, but it didn’t slow. There would be no distracting it. Instead, Meredith let her rifle fall on its strap and sprinted full tilt at the beast. She jumped, catching hold of the spines and swinging herself up them like a ladder. The Goliath didn’t even seem to notice her until she jammed the C4 under one of the plates connecting its neck to its shoulder.

Its head turned, but she jumped off and rolled onto the ground. Pain from the impact shocked through her bones, but she ignored it. Her legs and arms pumped as she put as much distance as she could between herself and the Goliath. It changed course in a wide turn like a Mack truck. Before it could come running after her, Andris depressed the button on his detonator.

The Goliath’s head erupted in a red mist. Its body slumped to its knees. Broken plates fell away from its shoulders. Meredith’s chest heaved as she watched the tendrils of smoke rise from the charred flesh of the giant. Then the headless Goliath’s body fell forward, hitting the ground with a resonating thud.

A normal-sized Skull leapt over the massive corpse and hurtled toward her. She lifted her rifle, still breathing hard, and caught it in her sights. A quick squeeze of the trigger sent it careening across the grass now slick with the Goliath’s blood. Jenna, Andris, and Spencer started to converge again, firing at the Skulls sporadically flinging themselves from the darkness.

With their Goliath down, Meredith turned her attention to the one doing battle with Dom and the others. Bullet holes across the gargantuan Skull’s body wept crimson. Its movements were sluggish, and beneath one scarred plate, she saw glistening ropes of shredded muscle. Rain poured over it, streaming between the spikes protruding from its joints and back. It reared back, its jaw dislocated and one arm hanging uselessly beside its body. Then it let out a deafening roar.

Adrenaline flowed too strongly through Meredith’s vessels now for her to feel intimidated. She and the others unleashed a salvo into the monster. Each bullet might not be anything more than a sewing needle jabbing into the huge creature. But with enough needle holes in enough places, even the strongest monster couldn’t endure.

The creature let out a final, bloodcurdling cry. This time there was something else there, like blood bubbling in its lungs. Its eyes bulged, protruding from its face like they were desperate to escape. A rasping cry slithered from its lips, and its claws flailed.

The creature fell, slopping into the rain-churned mud. Lightning and thunder crashed all around it, marking the Goliath’s demise.

Meredith signaled for Andris, Jenna, and Spencer to fall in with her. She fired at a Skull lunging for Jenna, ending the bastard before it so much as got a claw on her.

“Thanks!” Jenna said.

“And thank you for saving my ass,” Andris said to Spencer. “I am rather attached to it, I find.”

“Nothing you wouldn’t do for me, bro,” Spencer replied.

The swarm of Skulls around them was beginning to dwindle. They were only a couple dozen yards from Dom and the others. Soon they’d be out of this quagmire. But relief quickly gave way to worry. The FGL were escaping with the warheads. This hadn’t been a victory. It had been a downright defeat. The FGL had gotten what they wanted, and the Hunters were coming away with nothing.

Meredith fired at a Skull springing from the foliage. It collapsed, and her boots pressed it into the mud as she ran. “Dom, we’re ready to move. We’ve got some catching up to do.”

Dom started a call over the comm link. “Frank, we—”

He raised his rifle, and Meredith followed where it pointed. Another Skull shot out of the darkness with blinding speed. Dom missed. Meredith and Andris’ shots were no better. This Skull was zigzagging, almost as if it was intentionally dodging them.

Then she realized, as it drew near, that was exactly what it was doing. It wasn’t a Skull. It was a Hybrid, a rifle strapped across its back and its claws outstretched. He yelled something in Russian then charged the Hunter at the rear of their pack.

“Spencer!” Andris yelled.

Meredith’s heart leapt into her throat. She’d been so distracted by the Goliaths and their catastrophic failure at stopping the FGL that she’d neglected the lone Hybrid they’d left behind. And now, that Hybrid barreled straight at Spencer.

Meredith fired. She swore some of those bullets had hit the Hybrid. But the half man, half Skull was filled by unholy fervor, impervious to pain.

Then everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Meredith’s senses all tuned in to the action before her. The frantic yells of the other Hunters. The Hybrid moving at blurring speed. The cries of the Skulls erupting around them. She’d let Spencer down. Let him lag behind when she knew he’d been injured. She had forgotten about the Hybrid, but he hadn’t forgotten them.

The monster plowed into Spencer. Claws dug into flesh. Spencer still fired, sending bullets cutting through the Hybrid at point-blank range.

Meredith sprinted toward them. The Hybrid pulled back from Spencer, his claws painted maroon, rain washing the blood covering his chest. Without hesitation, Meredith lunged. She slammed into the Hybrid, and the back of his skull slapped against the ground. He kicked her off. Other voices hit Meredith’s ears. They wanted to help, but there was no time. Not when facing the strength and speed of a Hybrid like this.

The Hybrid came at Meredith with fury and speed. She ducked under his stabbing claws and grabbed his wrists. This match wouldn’t last long if she tried to compete with him in a contest of brawn. Instead, she performed one of the moves she had taught Kara, flipping the Hybrid on his back by using his momentum against him.

Planting a boot on the Hybrid’s chest, she unholstered her pistol and fired six shots straight through his face. His limbs went still.

“Meredith, you okay?” Andris said, panting as he caught up to her. “Where is Spencer?”

Gunfire resounded all around her. Skulls fell in waves. Rain pounded against her helmet. The blood from the Hybrid washed off her fatigues.

“I’m okay,” she said finally. It was true. No damage from the Hybrid or the Goliath. She’d survived miraculously untouched by both brutal enemies. But though she had come away unscathed, there was another who had not.

“Spencer!” Jenna cried. She shouldered her rifle, tearing apart a nearby Skull with armor-piercing rounds. Then she dove to the wounded Hunter’s side. He lay still, the rain washing away the blood from his wounds.

-20-

Spencer was down and didn’t look like he was getting up anytime soon. The rain soaking his fatigues made it impossible to see exactly how much blood he was losing.

“Form up on Spence!” Dom bellowed.

Gunshots rang out around him, plunging into the Skulls still pounding after them. Dom hurtled over dead and dying Skulls. Some lashed out at him uselessly, their bodies wrecked. Even with mortal wounds they did not relent.

He could only hope that Spencer would cling to life as desperately as the Skulls did.

Meredith was hunched over Spencer, working bandages across the lacerations in his shoulder and neck. The white cloth was already soaking through with dark blood.

“O’Neil, any more Hybrids?” Dom asked.

O’Neil slid to a stop near Dom, the plates on his chest clunking together as his lungs heaved. “I don’t sense any more. Doesn’t mean they aren’t out there.”

“Understood,” Dom said. “Mere, how is he?”

Meredith didn’t look up. Her gloves were covered in Spencer’s blood. “I can’t—”

A Skull shrieked behind them. It led a pack of others from the facility. Some wore torn military fatigues, their helmets still strapped under their chins. O’Neil, Glenn, and Miguel sent a flurry of rounds into the oncoming monsters as lightning fractured the sky. At least the din of the storm drowned out some of the sounds. Without the Hybrids, there wouldn’t be much else to attract more Skulls to the area. If they were lucky, they’d only have to deal with the ones still in the immediate vicinity.

He and the others could survive that. The only question was whether Spencer could. They needed to get Spencer out of here. Get him somewhere dry, somewhere with medical personnel equipped with more than a few bandages.

“Frank, give me a sitrep,” Dom said.

Static crackled over the line before Frank answered. “Got their vehicle in my sights. I think it’s a BvS-10. It’s moving in the water right now like a goddamn robotic duck.”

“Chao, where’s that drone?” Dom asked.

“Just a few minutes out from Frank’s position,” the specialist responded.

“Any idea where that BvS-10 is headed?”

“Hard to say right now,” Chao said. “Based on the trajectory Frank reported, I’d guess they’re headed to a ship somewhere in the Bay of Biscay. But we’re not picking anything up on radar, and I can’t get a visual.”

“Damn it,” Dom said. “We’ve got a casualty here, and we need an immediate medevac.”

“You want me to turn this bird around?” Frank asked.

Jenna stared up at Dom, eyes wide. Dom knew the question she was silently asking: Are we going to save Spencer?

It wasn’t that simple. If he called Frank back now, they might be able to get Spencer to the ship in time for Divya and Peter to save him. But then they risked letting the FGL get away with a nuclear warhead.

The weight of this decision threatened to paralyze him. Spencer’s life hung in the balance. But so did the lives of countless others if they allowed Spitkovsky to get his hands on a nuke.

Bile rose in Dom’s throat. He had to choke it down to speak, but he forced himself to put on an air of confidence. “Do not turn around, Frank. Stay on that BvS-10. I do not want it out of your sight until Chao can track it.”

“But, Chief,” Miguel said. “Spence isn’t doing so hot.”

Dom shot Miguel an icy glare. Miguel returned it until the scream of a nearby Skull forced him to turn away. The road Dom had just gone down was a one-way street. His gamble better pay off. If they lost the FGL and Spencer, he wasn’t sure a single one of the Hunters would forgive him for what he’d done.

But this was what he and his crew lived and died for. Protecting the masses, even if the masses didn’t know.

No matter what he told himself, it didn’t make the decision feel any better.

“He’s still bleeding heavily,” Meredith said too damn calmly.

“Miguel, help her,” Dom commanded.

Miguel knelt next to Spencer and pressed one of the compresses into the torn flesh near Spencer’s neck. The Hunter’s skin was pale and waxy, and a dark stream trickled from the corner of his mouth.

“Frank, you still got the FGL in your sights?” Dom asked.

“Yes, I got ’em,” Frank said. “And—holy shit on a stick, Captain. You’re not going to believe this.”

Whatever it was, Dom prayed it was worth Spencer’s life.

***

Thomas plucked the unlit cigar from his lips and squeezed it as he stared at one of the screens on the workshop’s bulkhead. “Son of a bitch.”

“Those cheeky bastards!” Samantha yelled, standing from her desk.

“Chao, please tell me that drone is almost there,” Thomas growled. A pang of something icy drove itself through his chest. He could hardly believe his goddamn eyes. What he saw through the cam on Frank’s chopper was almost unbelievable.

“Is that what I think it is?” Chao asked.

“My sight ain’t as good as those cameras y’all are watching through,” Frank said, “but I’m ninety-nine percent sure we’re not looking at the Loch Ness Monster.”

“No,” Thomas said. “This is worse. The FGL’s got its own goddamn version of Huntress.”

There it was, jutting from the gray water, barely visible in the rain and crashing whitecaps. All the familiar jagged lines were there, as though Thomas was looking at a mirror image of his own ship.

“You’re sure?” Dom asked over the comms.

“Does a shark shit in the ocean?” Thomas asked. “We’re looking at a Visby-class corvette.”

“Christ,” Dom said. “We can’t let that thing out of our sight. If we do...”

Thomas didn’t need Dom to finish that sentence. He understood. They’d thrived at sea, vanishing into the vast ocean using the Huntress’s stealth capabilities. The hull itself was specially made of a composite material that minimized its radar signature and blocked nearly any infrared radiation leaking from the vessel. The ship’s angular design not only reduced that already minuscule radar signature but also let the ship blend into the waves, reducing the chance of another ship or aircraft maintaining a visual lock on the vessel.

In short, they were hard as hell to track.

As Frank approached the corvette, Chao narrowed in on their location with the drone.

“Keep your distance,” Thomas warned Frank. “We got a lock on you, and we’ll be on that ship shortly. You know as well as I do that that thing can knock a bird out of the sky if it wants.”

He assumed the other corvette was equipped like they were with a fifty-seven-millimeter cannon, torpedoes, anti-ship and antiair missiles, and a couple of grenade launchers at the very least.

“You’re close enough, Frank,” Chao said. “The drone will get there in maybe thirty seconds.”

“Good,” Dom said. His voice was punctuated by muffled gunfire and a chorus of hellish Skull voices. “They can’t use those warheads now. The corvette, if it’s anything like the Huntress, won’t be equipped with long-range ballistic missiles capable of carrying those warheads. That means it’s even more important we do not lose the ship. How long can you trail them with that drone?”

“With the weather acting the way it is,” Chao said, “we’ll be lucky if we can go a hundred kilometers before we need to recharge it.”

“That’s assuming they don’t knock it out of the air.”

Chao’s silence was answer enough for Thomas and Dom.

“How many of those drones we got?” Thomas asked. “One more?”

“That’s right,” Samantha said.

“Get the second ready to fly,” Thomas said. “As soon as we start pulling this one out, we need the other in the air. We’re not losing this ship.”

“The BvS-10 is almost to the ship,” Frank said. “Soon as it is, these assholes are going to run off faster than Thomas when you try to feed him his veggies. You sure that drone’s almost here?”

“Positive,” Chao said.

Something moved on the deck of the corvette. In the overwhelming darkness of the storm, Thomas had a difficult time determining what it was, but there was definitely something going on near the portside bow. A sinking feeling dragged itself through his gut.

“Frank, you need to get the hell out of there immediately,” Thomas said.

“I’m flying low enough—”

“They’re going to fire a goddamn antiaircraft missile,” Thomas said. “I saw the hatch open right where we’ve got the AAs on our ship.”

“You sure it isn’t your eyes playing tricks on you, old man?” Frank asked, still sounding skeptical. All the same, the chopper started retreating back toward the shore. “I’m below radar range. The best pilot on the Huntress always tells me I’m an absolute ace.”

“Ace or not, your ass is getting smoked if you don’t move,” Thomas said. He chewed the end of the cigar.

Frank was undeniably cocky. But he really was a damn good pilot. He made skimming above wild waves in a frenetic storm look easy. Still, even a good pilot in a good bird couldn’t outrun an antiaircraft missile.

Something flared at the bow of the ship. Lightning crackled through the sky, blinding the cameras mounted to the Seahawk, before Thomas could see for sure what it was. The drone was now close enough to the corvette to give them another angle. That’s when he saw the ominous column of smoke snaking into the sky toward Frank.

“They fired, Frank!” Thomas cried.

Flares burst from the Seahawk in a spray of coursing lights. The chopper veered hard, nearly flipping sideways. A violent explosion followed. Tree limbs broke as flares dropped down around them. Several of the trees caught fire, burning like torches. A cloud of smoke obscured the drone’s view of what had happened to Frank and the chopper.

“Frank,” Thomas called, “you still there?”

The silence stretched on for far too long. Thomas felt like punching a bulkhead in frustration, but he tried to keep it together as best he could.

“Told you I’m the best,” Frank replied.

Thomas sagged in relief. The downpour drenched the trees and leaves still on fire from the diverted missile. The fading smoke revealed a swathe of downed trees, as if an asteroid had slammed into the earth near Frank’s position.

“We’ve got the ship in our sights now,” Chao said. “Drone is on location.”

“Hear that, Frank?” Thomas asked. “We don’t need you there anymore. Go pick up Dom and the others.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” Frank said.

Thomas shook his head, pulling the cigar from between his teeth. The end of it had been demolished from being clamped in his jaw. “Chao, keep that drone back as far as you can. It doesn’t have flares, and Frank isn’t flying it. I doubt very much it can dodge an incoming missile.”

For a while the drone circled far above the ship, using the storm clouds as cover. The flashing lightning gave them a chance to study the ship as Samantha took still images from the drone’s video feed. She put several of them on the monitor next to the live view of the vessel.

“Looks like this is the Karlstad,” Samantha said, pointing to the block letters scrawled on its side. “That’s one of the original Swedish Visby-class corvettes. This wasn’t made special like the Huntress was for us.”

“So they stole it from the Swedes,” Thomas said. “That means their intelligence operations and their military operations are still running hot. I don’t like this at all.”

“Ahoy, boys and girls,” Frank said, “I’m almost at pickup.”

“Good,” Dom said. “We need to get Spencer out of here, and the Skulls won’t leave us alone.”

“I’m going to warn you,” Frank said. “This will be tight. I’m already lower than I’d like to be on fuel, and racing around a goddamn missile had me pissing gasoline like the Seahawk has a UTI.”

“Too much, Frank,” Samantha said. “Way too much.”

On the drone’s monitor, the Karlstad was slowly accelerating out to sea. It cut through the stormy waters with the same grace as the Huntress, slicing through the cresting whitecaps and letting waves roll over the deck like they were nothing more than the wind. Thomas almost admired the way the ship surged forward, except that it meant the Karlstad was trying to disappear into the squall.

“Stay on that ship,” Thomas growled at Chao.

The drone circled the area in wide loops. Chao maintained a healthy distance to minimize the chance of being discovered. The ship began sailing in a southeasterly direction that would take them close to the Huntress. Thomas was itching to stop them, but he wasn’t sure engaging in an all-out sea battle with a ship carrying nuclear warheads was a wise decision.

“Cliff,” Thomas called over the comms to the officer of the watch on the bridge, “stay out of the Karlstad’s sight. I want to tail it as best as a six-hundred-forty-ton ship can. We cannot let them spot us.”

“Yes, sir,” Cliff replied. The Huntress’s engines growled louder a moment later.

The ship began drifting westward, pulling them further out to sea so the Karlstad would pass between them and the shore.

“How long before that second drone needs to take off?” Thomas asked.

“Thirty minutes,” Chao replied.

“Good,” Thomas said. But he didn’t feel good about it.

The Karlstad was quickly approaching maximum speed. They were hightailing it somewhere, and Thomas wanted to know where. But as the Karlstad started to put distance between itself and the Huntress, it made the prospect of tracking the ship with just drones impossible. Soon it would be out of the drones’ effective range, and they’d need Huntress constantly moving just to keep the drones in service to follow the Karlstad, unless the ship decided to stop miraculously close to their position. Thomas had a feeling that was unlikely.

“You better be close to picking up our people, Frank,” Thomas said over the radio.

“One minute out,” Frank said. “Then I’ll see you back in time to dry off and have a warm cup of cocoa.”

“I was thinking of something stronger after this,” Thomas replied.

“I’d have an Irish coffee, but that wouldn’t go over well if y’all wanted me flying again tonight.”

“Cocoa it is then.”

Another glow of light flashed from the Karlstad’s bow. A plume of rapidly dissipating smoke followed.

“Frank, incoming!” Thomas said.

“Christ,” Frank said, “didn’t they see I already got the hint? I’m leaving them alone.”

Flares showered from Frank’s chopper again. The Seahawk plunged to the side, all the cam feeds going wild. Thomas waited, fingers tightening and teeth clenched together. He couldn’t believe Frank would be able to dodge a second time. In his mind’s eye, he pictured the chopper a burning wreck, rotors fracturing and tail tearing from the fuselage. The Hunters would be completely, utterly screwed.

And here he was, sitting on the goddamn ship with no way to help them. No backup plan except for taking a Zodiac to shore himself and plunging through Skull-infested territory to retrieve them.

Of course, taking the Huntress off course now would also mean they’d lose effective range for monitoring the Karlstad. And that would mean that the warheads they’d stolen would disappear with them.

He’d been between a rock and a hard place before. This was worse.

But as he watched the feeds, he realized that the Karlstad hadn’t been aiming at the chopper after all. Instead, the drone feed went dark in a sudden blast of static.

The FGL had destroyed the drone and, with it, their hope of tracking the ship.

-21-

Dom shielded his eyes from the rain sprayed by the rotor wash of the Seahawk. The engines remained hot as the Hunters rushed toward the open side doors of the chopper. Meredith, Glenn, and Miguel carried Spencer as the others provided covering fire. Skulls still trickled out of the neighboring forest, and stragglers from within Cesta surfaced to join the carnage.

Everything had gone to shit, and the FGL had escaped. He cursed under his breath with his rifle pressed against his shoulder. It kicked each time he fired. A blind rage filled him, threatening to take over. He continued killing every Skull he could. He hated every single one of them.

But their destruction was only a weak remedy for the anger he felt. They weren’t the real reason he wanted to punch a hole straight through the chopper’s fuselage. Dom wasn’t sure whether he was angrier at the FGL—or at himself, for letting them get away.

When Jenna had jumped into the cabin, Dom slapped the fuselage. “That’s it, Frank. Take us home.”

“Sure thing, Captain,” Frank said.

The Seahawk rose, buffeted by winds. Puddles formed across the deck from the rain-soaked Hunters as each of them struggled to catch their breath, chests heaving. Spencer lay sprawled on the floor with Andris and Meredith hunched over him.

Dom unstrapped his helmet and chinned his comm link. “Huntress, have the OR ready.”

“Already prepped,” Thomas replied. But it sounded as though his voice had caught in his throat. “But we’ve got another problem. The drone just went dark.”

“Vid feed error?” Dom asked.

“They shot it. That last AA missile wasn’t for Frank. It was for the goddamn drone.”

“Get the second in the air.”

“Already did.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“At the speed the Karlstad is traveling, we’ll have to follow the drone to stay in range.”

Realization poured over Dom. “If you wait around for the chopper, you won’t be able to refuel and recharge the drone to keep pace with the Karlstad.”

“Exactly,” Thomas said. “According to our estimates and Frank’s report, he doesn’t have enough fuel to catch up to us if we take off after the Karlstad.”

“One hundred percent,” Frank said. “I burned through enough running after the Karlstad in the first place, then I had to dodge their presents.”

Once more, the answer was clear to Dom. And judging by the clenched eyes and grimaces on the other Hunters’ faces, they knew what was going to happen, too. “Thomas, do not lose that ship. We need to know where the hell they’re going.”

“Yes, Captain,” Thomas said. It sounded like he had a cigar clenched between his teeth, a sure sign he wasn’t pleased with the turn of events. “Is there anything we can do to support you all out there?”

Dom grabbed a handrail as the helicopter bucked on the storm-blown winds. “Call Ronaldo at Lajes.”

“In the meantime, this bird can’t fly forever,” Frank said. “It’s gotta nest somewhere.”

“Search up the coast,” Dom said. “Let’s find ourselves a municipality airport. Somewhere to hold out until Ronaldo’s people can get to us.”

Meredith looked up from Spencer’s still form. “I don’t know if Spence is going to last that long.”

“He will,” Dom said. He wanted to believe his own words. Spencer didn’t deserve a death like this. Not because of one dumbass Hybrid. It wasn’t right. “He’s strong. One of the strongest.”

“I hope you’re right, Chief,” Miguel said, his tone anything but sure.

Frank took them swooping along the coastline. The storm began to dissipate, but the skies were still dark with clouds blotting out the moon and stars. The earth below was just as dark. It was still an odd sensation, seeing the lack of electric lights where he knew cities and towns were—or had at least once stood.

“Chao, can you send us a map of all known airport locations within a two-hundred-kilometer radius of our position?” Dom asked.

“Consider it done.”

It didn’t take long for a map to display across Dom’s smartwatch, pocked with purported locations of airports—both small private strips and larger international ones. The same map glowed on a display in the cockpit, and Frank overlaid it with their current position. He tapped a couple of the closest airports and created a route between them.

“We’ve got enough fuel to visit these four,” Frank said. “The first one that doesn’t look like a Skull orgy, I’ll take us down so we can sit tight for Ronaldo.”

“And if we can’t find a clean airport,” Dom said, jaw clenched and fire burning beneath his ribs as he looked at Spencer, “we’ll make one.”

***

Meredith shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. She gazed around the cabin of the Seahawk. There was O’Neil, fresh to the team but already willing to protect the team with his life, the overgrown bones of his face doing nothing to mask his concern. Andris muttered a prayer in Latvian, and Miguel joined in Spanish, blood still trickling between his fingers as he pressed them against the bandages on Spencer’s pallid skin. Jenna stared out a window, eyes focused on some unimportant point in the sky, as Glenn did his best to suture Spencer’s wounds. But no one’s best here was as good as the operating suite aboard the Huntress.

Dom watched out the cockpit with Frank as they approached the first airport on their map. They swept a searchlight over the area to assess for Skull threats.

Meredith’s stomach sank.

At least a hundred monsters lumbered across the single runway. Their eyes lifted in concert, glowing in the searchlight, and their claws scraped helplessly at the air as if to beckon the chopper down so they could feast on the people inside. Frank pulled back on the collective, and they ascended once more into the dregs of the storm, the engines growling as the rotors chewed through the dense, humid air.

The roar of the engine was not as deafening as the silence of the crew.

Spencer’s chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. They could all see that he was not long for this world, and still the crew fought to keep him alive.

Meredith hoisted herself to the cockpit between Frank and Dom. The rolling hills of the forest and towns below passed under them like the gentle waves of a calm sea. The rain was letting up, and the clouds broke apart enough to allow a shaft of moonlight to caress the landscape.

“Ten klicks from the next airport,” Frank said. Apparently even he was too tired and subdued to make a joke.

Frank flipped on the searchlights once again. The spears of light stabbed over the runways. Planes littered the landscape like the bloated, decaying corpses of beached whales. Puddles shimmered along flooded ditches. And, like the last runway, far too many Skulls meandered below.

There would be no reprieve here, and they only had two more airports to go before lack of fuel forced them down. Meredith inched closer to Dom then chinned her comm link to a private channel.

“You doing all right?” she whispered. The mic carried her voice up over the throaty rumble of the engine.

“I think you already know the answer to that question.”

“I do, and I don’t. Talk to me.”

He was silent. Even as the storm outside dwindled, the one in Dom’s head seemed to rage. Meredith didn’t really need to ask what was on his mind. She’d seen the looks in the eyes of the Hunters. There was a sense of betrayal at letting one of their own die. But hardly a word had been spoken out against Dom’s decision. From her time spent with the Hunters, she understood how they operated. They’d once been mercenaries working for the CIA, but even they had a calling: to protect those who didn’t know they needed protecting. And they took that duty seriously.

She hadn’t asked yet, but she thought the others understood why Spencer was dying here instead of on the Huntress. Far more lives were at stake than just his if the Karlstad disappeared into the night.

But Dom was the one that bore responsibility for that decision.

“You know I once felt like an outcast in this group,” Meredith began. “I wasn’t sure I belonged. I wondered if the Hunters resented me. They’d all earned their positions through blood and sacrifice. I was just the face behind the desk that gave you the money and your orders.”

She sighed as the chopper banked deeper into the dark country. “But these people have saved my life more times than I can count, and I’ve tried to do the same for them. They’re like a family.”

Dom’s eyes roved her face for a moment before he turned back to stare out the cockpit. “Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”

“I can’t pretend to know what you’re going through right now.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s Spencer. And them.” He gestured over his shoulder to indicate the others in the cabin, still huddled around their fallen comrade.

“And I’m worried about you,” Meredith said. “I can see in your eyes that you’re feeling uncertain about your choice. But I know you made the right choice. They know you made the right choice.”

“I’m glad to have you on my side, Mere,” Dom said. “It’s good to know at least one Hunter stands behind my decision.”

“This is what it takes to beat the FGL.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier,” Dom said. “Everyone who joined my crew knew what they were getting themselves into. They knew that we each might have to make the ultimate sacrifice to protect our country—and now, to save the world. But I’m the one who has to make the call.”

Meredith wanted to say something more, but Frank was pointing out the cockpit.

“Will you look at that?” He whistled as the searchlight swept over a runway. “The Skulls left this one nice and clean for us.”

“Bring us down,” Dom said.

In minutes, they had secured a perimeter around an abandoned hangar. Frank looked around hopefully for fuel—anything to get the Seahawk or even one of the abandoned single-prop planes back to the Huntress. But his hopes were quickly vanquished. All the fuel drums were empty, and there was no ground fuel truck to be seen at the small airport. Judging by the broken windows in the humble terminal and empty shelves and cabinets in the storage rooms, someone had already ransacked this place.

While Dom and the others did their best to tend to Spencer’s wounds, Meredith and Frank manned the communications systems. They connected with Ronaldo, who immediately promised them the air support they needed. He could have a plane there in no more than a couple of hours with fuel to get the Seahawk airborne.

But a couple of hours was far too long for Spencer. His last, ragged breath came less than ten minutes after they touched down.

The others murmured prayers and curses when they realized that he was gone. The floor seemed to give way under Meredith as the full force of another Hunter’s death hit her. Meredith caught Dom’s eyes. He stood frozen, his jaw muscles clenching and his gaze like steel. His expression told her that he would accept no comfort or sympathy. Helpless to do anything to save Spencer and without a tangible enemy to fight, the Hunters gathered around their fallen brother. Meredith felt a tear rolling down her cheek as she put her hand on Andris’s shoulder. Jenna leaned against Glenn, while Miguel pounded his prosthetic fist against the ground.

They could do nothing but wait—and mourn—until Ronaldo’s reinforcements arrived.

-22-

Rain still pounded the steel roof of the empty hangar, echoing like machine-gun fire in the space. The scene was so goddamn familiar, and a sickening sense of déjà vu cut through Dom. Spencer lay still and cold on the concrete floor. Miguel crouched next to the body, seemingly unwilling to leave Spencer’s side. Nearby, Meredith was talking softly with Andris and Jenna, evidently comforting the both of them. Glenn stood off to the side with Frank.

O’Neil sat alone. He had found a kettle in one of the hangar’s offices and had begun to brew a pot of hot coffee. Orange light from the small fire he’d built flickered over the bones protruding from his face.

“This sucks, Chief,” Miguel said. His gaze never left Spencer’s body as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

“It does,” Dom said. Spencer had been a hell of a soldier and a fine man. He had the aura of a perpetual frat boy, preferring cheap lager and dirty jokes to the finer things in life. But when duty called, Spencer was always nothing but professional—and selfless. Ultimately it was that selflessness that had gotten him killed.

A seething ball of rage erupted in Dom’s chest. The heat rose to his head. “Fucking Oni Agent. Fucking Skulls. Fucking Spitkovsky.”

“Fuck ’em all,” Miguel said. But there was no anger in his voice. Dom had never seen the man look so frigidly calm. It unnerved him.

Dom unclenched his fingers. He hadn’t even realized he’d been making a fist. Goddamnit, he was letting anger control him. He forced aside the fury at all the things he couldn’t control. That left him with the choices he’d made.

“He didn’t deserve this,” Dom said.

“No, he didn’t,” Miguel said. “He was a damn good guy.”

Miguel was one of the longest-serving men in Dom’s field group. He’d been on almost every mission. In fact, Miguel had been one of the first people to set foot on the Huntress after Dom and Thomas. Dom figured that had to count for something. The man deserved his captain’s complete honesty.

“If something doesn’t change in this war, if we don’t start getting real support soon...” Dom let the words fade and started over. “You all are the best goddamn crew I could wish for, but you’re not stupid, and I’m not going to treat you like you are. This war will devour each and every one of us.” He paused, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand as he looked at Spencer. “If this becomes a war of attrition, we’re going to lose.”

Now Miguel looked at him. “You’re right, Chief. Each time this happens”—he motioned to Spencer—“it kills me a little bit, too. These are my brothers and sisters. This is my family.” He pressed his palms into his eyes. “Jesus Christ, it seems like just yesterday we lost Renee, and now Spence.”

A knot caught in Dom’s throat, and for a moment he couldn’t speak without risking his voice trembling. His thoughts hadn’t strayed far from Renee, either. In the Congo, as Renee was quietly dying, they had chosen to go on. Only they hadn’t realized the extent of Renee’s injuries. Of course, retreating to the Huntress hadn’t been an option then, with Skulls, Goliaths, and Droolers clamoring along their route back to the ship. Still, as he let the anger subside, a flood of anguish drowned his mind.

Right or wrong, Dom’s decisions determined the fate of his crew. Today, that meant losing Spencer. Tomorrow, it might be Miguel or Meredith or even Dom himself. He combed his hand over his forehead and through his short-cropped hair. Then he turned to Miguel.

“This used to be about saving the world,” Dom said. “I thought we could do it alone. But the only thing that’s being stopped is us. We need some real goddamn leadership to step up. Everyone we meet makes promises about wiping out the Skulls and the FGL. But when push comes to shove, it’s us doing the work.”

“We need more people out here fighting the real fight,” Miguel said. He absentmindedly scraped his foot along on the floor. “More boots on the ground.”

“You got that right,” Dom said. “If anything is a wakeup call to our allies, it has got to be the fact that the FGL has access to nuclear weapons.”

“Biological weapons were bad enough.” Miguel sighed and swiped a hand under his eyes one last time. “These guys are like the worst kind of hoarders. Instead of collecting malnourished cats or creepy dolls, they’re hoarding every damn weapon of mass destruction they can get their hands on.”

For a moment they both leaned against the wall in silence. The soft murmurs of the rest of the group were drowned out by the rainfall. Miguel toyed with his prosthetic arm, unlatching the panel to reveal the wiring and gadgets beneath then locking it again.

Miguel was the first to speak. “Chief, I admire you. I really do. You got a hell of a sense of ethics. Kind of like the code those chivalrous knights were supposed to live up to. All this ‘for the greater good’ stuff really drives you, and I respect that.” His eyes met Dom’s. “But sometimes it really fucking sucks. It sucks that you can sacrifice one of us when you think it means we’re going to save the rest of the world.”

“I’m doing what’s necessary,” Dom said. “This isn’t just about saving the rest of the world, but saving us, too. We’re in just as much danger if the FGL uses nukes as anyone back home.”

“Logically, I understand that shit. You know what Spence used to say? You can frost a turd, but it still tastes like shit. No matter how you try to reason it away, no matter how much sense it makes, no matter how much the whole goddamn rest of the world needs us, it still sucks.”

Dom wanted to respond, but he knew better. Talk like this wouldn’t fly in a normal rank-and-file situation, but the Hunters were no typical combat unit. Miguel had every right to speak his mind, and the best thing Dom could do now was shut up and listen.

“You talk about the lack of global leadership,” Miguel continued, building up a head of steam, “but what about our leadership? Yours is killing us, Chief. It’s fucking killing us. How many of us need to die before you get that?” His face was red now, and a vessel in his forehead bulged. “When I was in Iraq, I watched my brothers die. All of them ripped apart in one goddamn explosion because we missed an IED that day. I was the only survivor, and for years it was the absolute most horrific thing I’d ever been through. I asked God why he didn’t take me, too. Why’d he let me live like this.” He held up his prosthetic arm.

Miguel sucked in a breath, his gaze growing distant. “I thought that was the worst fucking thing in the world, losing them all like that. But I was wrong.” He laughed, the kind of laugh that someone halfway between anger and sadness lets out because they have no idea how else to respond. “I was so wrong. Watching my family die like this, one at a time, is way worse.”

Dom wanted to defend himself and his ability to lead. It wasn’t his fault that they’d lost so many Hunters. But Miguel’s criticisms hinted at a deeper problem. For every Hunter that succumbed to physical injuries and perished, every survivor had their own psychic wounds. Wounds that would fester and spread, like the one plaguing Miguel now.

There was only one thing that Dom could offer Miguel in that moment. All the dumb military flicks out there, the ones that focused on the glory of battle, ignored the reality of a warrior—the unbreakable bond between those that served together, even mercenaries. Those action flicks celebrated bravado and heroics. But they didn’t show what happened in moments like this.

Miguel was usually the one that buoyed others’ moods, employing good humor like a weapon. Seeing him so shaken tore Dom apart. He had to figure out something to keep his crew together, to remind them why they were in this fight. Dom embraced Miguel and patted the man’s back. There wasn’t much that could be said, but he gave it a try anyway.

“Every goddamn day seems dark. Tomorrow is probably going to be darker. But as long as I’m alive, I’m going to fight that darkness so no one else has to go through what we have to.”

Miguel pulled back. If he felt any shame in his emotional outburst, he didn’t show it. And for God’s sake, Dom didn’t want him to feel any.

“I’m good, Chief,” Miguel said, waving him away. “I get why you made the call. I get why we’re doing what we’re doing. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hate that we’re the ones doing it.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Dom said. His fingers curled into a fist again. Jenna, Andris, Meredith, Frank, and O’Neil were now circled around the small fire, sipping cups of coffee. “I feel ridiculous even saying it, but the last thing I want to see is any of you...” He paused, choking down the emotion threatening to overcome him. “The last thing I want is to lose any of you. We’ve devoted ourselves to stopping the Oni Agent. And you’re right. At times maybe the ethics that drive me are all my own. But I’m not going to stop now, because this is beyond just saving a bunch of hapless civvies.”

Dom shook his head. “That Russian bastard has made this more than a mission. He has made this personal, and I’ll be damned if he makes it out of this war alive.”

“Thanks, Chief,” Miguel said. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some shit coffee made by some guy who looks like he’s half dead.”

“I didn’t think there were any Starbucks around.”

Miguel grinned and clapped Dom on the shoulder. There was a little bit of that good-natured spirit again, even if it was forced. They joined the others telling stories about Spencer. Soon they’d have a real ceremony. But for now, there was no better way to honor the man than an impromptu wake—if only they had stronger drinks.

They carried on, the mood shifting between bouts of laughter and solemn, shaky voices. Thomas continued to supply them with updates on the Huntress’s position as it trailed the Karlstad, and Ronaldo called to assure them that his people were on their way. The cavalry would not be long.

Jenna took another sip of the grainy coffee then wiped her lips with the back of her sleeve. “Remember that time we took Spence to a bar in Beirut?”

Glenn raised an eyebrow. “A bar? You talking about that place with all the neon lights and froufrou light-up cocktails? I’d hardly call that a bar.”

“Whatever, you’d—”

Dom held up a hand. The others immediately went silent. Miguel half stood, his fingers wrapped around his rifle. “I thought I heard something.”

Then there was a muffled pop. It sounded like a soft-drink can exploding. A second one followed.

“There, you hear that?” he asked.

The others had already started to gather their equipment.

Then the pops were louder. It was gunfire, no doubt about it. But even worse was the noise that followed. An earth-shaking roar that could only be from one source: an incoming Goliath.

-23-

“The drone is still trailing us,” Lieutenant Daftary said.

“I am not blind,” Admiral Mokri said. On the monitors in front of Daftary, a display showed the drone’s position in relation to the Karlstad.

“It would be very easy to eliminate, sir,” Daftary said.

“It would be,” Mokri agreed. Such a decision seemed obvious to a mere lieutenant like Daftary. But eliminating the drone was precisely the wrong move at that moment. “We do not want to do that. It’s better that we track their drone.”

“But they’ll follow us to the rendezvous point.”

“They won’t make it that far,” Mokri said.

Daftary gave him a nonplussed look. “Is this part of Spitkovsky’s plan?”

“It is part of my plan,” Mokri said, perhaps a bit too defensively. “We want the Hunters to follow us. Better to keep them close. If they think they’re tracking us, then we have them on a leash. It is much easier to shoot a rabid dog on a leash than one running loose.”

“Ah, I see,” Daftary said, leaning into the radar screen. “I would assume, even if we did shoot it down, they would close the distance. They aren’t stupid; they know what we have.”

“You are right not to underestimate the enemy. They most certainly know what we’ve taken from Cesta. But I do not want to risk them getting any closer to us than they are.”

The hatch to the bridge opened. The tall, muscular form of Sergeant Semenov marched in like a specter of death. He still hadn’t washed the bloodstains from the bone plates covering his chest. For all Mokri knew, Semenov wore the blood of his victims like a macabre badge of honor. In fact, he’d be willing to bet the Karlstad that was the case.

“They are still following us,” Semenov rasped, halfway between a question and an accusation.

“Yes, they are in pursuit,” Mokri said.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Daftary twist back to his monitor, eager to avoid facing the Hybrid. Mokri’s eyes narrowed. The Hybrids enjoyed striking fear in the rest of the normal human crew. It was almost a sport to them. Mokri hadn’t witnessed it, but he’d heard the whispers from his lieutenants of Hybrids marching down the corridors, forcing the Iranians to shrink out of the way. As a Hybrid passed, he would hiss or lunge or make some other barbaric gesture of aggression, invariably causing the victim crew member to flinch. Bullies was all they were. And yet, he could do virtually nothing about it. They were near immune to his reprimands. Threats of temporary imprisonment in the brig—and even more than threats—did little to change their behavior.

“And why does their pursuit concern you?” Mokri finally asked.

“Because they must be stopped,” Semenov said. “Because we can stop them.”

Mokri understood the insult behind Semenov’s words. Semenov wasn’t referring to the crew of the Karlstad as “we”; he meant only to refer to the Hybrids.

“We will stop them, but we will do it my way,” Mokri said. “I have already coordinated this with Spitkovsky. They are waiting on the Ionian Sea to intercept.”

“You will wait that long to act against them?” Semenov’s eyes glowed red. “We must strike them while they are desperate and split up. This is the best time.”

“I disagree. And I am in command of this vessel.”

Semenov strode forward. His fetid breath washed over Mokri. There was no respect for rank with the Hybrids. Undoubtedly, that was the result of the brutal genetic tampering with their physiology and their brains. Or perhaps they’d been bastards to begin with.

“What do you expect us to do? Sit here and rot on the ship when we could eliminate all our problems in one mission?”

“I expect you to wait on my command,” Mokri said. “We will not destroy their drone, and we will not attack them head-on. That is foolish and suicidal.”

“It is not suicide when you know you will defeat them,” Semenov said.

“Your arrogance knows no bounds. When they infected you with that agent, did it give you claws but remove your common sense?”

“I could tear out your heart right now,” Semenov said.

The Hybrid’s words rang true. He could see those claws slicing through his flesh, those gray muscles powering Semenov’s fist through his ribs. A heavy weight pulled at his insides, something he hadn’t felt since Spitkovsky had first told him he’d “watch” over his family in Moscow.

Mokri was afraid.

“You will not do that,” Mokri said.

“And why not?”

“Because even though you could, you cannot command a ship like this. You would sink it before you’d even reach the Huntress. You and I both know, even if my heart were lying under your foot, I would not be the unluckiest person aboard this ship. That honor would go to you when Spitkovsky found out how you had screwed our directive.”

Semenov still glared at him for a moment. Finally, he took a step back, breaking eye contact. Mokri inhaled.

“Why don’t we fight them?” Semenov asked. A primal hunger still shook his voice, but it was not so brazen as before. “We could sink them with a torpedo or a damn anti-ship missile.” His eyes narrowed. “Let us loose, and every last one of them is dead.”

“We could do those things, sure,” Mokri said. The deck bucked beneath his feet as they hit a large wave. He never lost his sea legs and stood tall. But Semenov was no man of the ocean, and he stumbled before catching himself on the bulkhead. Mokri took a quiet pleasure in seeing Semenov unsteady for once. “Attacking them now might work. But if it does not, we stand to lose so much more. Should they land a lucky hit, we may lose the warheads. And if we were to lose them, no matter how unlikely it may seem to you, then things become much more difficult for us.”

“The Hunters need to die.”

“It’s not that I disagree with you. But timing is crucial. We cannot risk these warheads. These are things a mere sergeant should not be worried over.”

Another wave rocked the boat. Semenov looked like a man at the edge of a desert mirage awaiting the drop of water that would never come. “At least tell me what you are doing with the nuclear weapons.”

“What we plan to do with these weapons is not your concern,” Mokri said. Truthfully, there was no reason he couldn’t tell the Hybrid. But he enjoyed wielding what power he had over the half man, half monster. “There is a reason Spitkovsky chose me to lead this mission and not you. We will destroy the Hunters, and we will deliver these weapons.” He gave Semenov as patronizing a look as he could muster. “And we don’t need you anymore to do it.”

Then he scooped up a handset, turning his back to the Hybrid. He dialed the encrypted channel for their allies waiting for them in the Ionian Sea. “Admiral Essen, this is the Karlstad. We are approximately three hours from your position. The Huntress is nearly three hundred klicks south. You are free to intercept.”

***

Kara strode down the passageway beside Alden Jorgenson, one of the Huntress’s engineers. The hum of the engines resounded through the bulkhead, and when he opened a hatch to the engine room, that hum became a palpable force hammering against her. Even through the special headphone-like earmuffs used to protect her hearing, her eardrums felt like trampolines being used by a pack of Goliaths.

Alden motioned for her to follow him deeper into the sweltering heat and cramped space of the engine room. The place felt like a dystopian jungle with pipes and wires and all manner of equipment snaking everywhere. The atmosphere was heady with the scent of diesel and oil, and the air had a slightly metallic taste.

“Wow!” Kara marveled. She doubted Alden could hear her amid the chaos, but he grinned, understanding her expression all the same. Everything that kept this ship running was down in this room. Before coming down here, she’d naively imagined a vast space filled with something akin to coal-burning furnaces with a mass of people crawling between them like ants. But her notions were nothing like the computer-controlled, tight space she saw now.

Alden pointed out key features and mouthed the names they’d gone over previously. That bulbous, screaming piece of equipment was the gas turbine, and there was the chugging, growling diesel engine, all part of the CODOG, the combined diesel or gas system that propelled the Huntress to considerable speeds. Alden mouthed the words “reduction gearbox,” a term Kara had never heard before ten minutes ago. He gestured to a rotund, gray metal contraption like a sideways barrel.

“Pump,” Alden mouthed.

That was the whining pump that drove water from the intakes, increasing pressure through centrifugal flow and jetting the water out of the stern. Closer to Alden was the reversing gearbox that changed the direction of water flow should the ship need to abruptly slow or reverse thrust. Alden had told her earlier that reversing water flow also cleared the intake grill of seaweed and other debris.

This place was the literal heart of the Huntress. Despite the liberal use of duct tape in some places and the tangles of wires overhead, it was beautiful. She felt as if she was inside the guts of a giant beast, and she couldn’t wait to learn how it all worked.

She was in love with the engine room.

After the brief orientation, Alden ushered her over to a relief valve on a pump. He’d told her previously that he wanted to perform some preventative maintenance on it. It wasn’t a horribly complicated procedure. After diverting all power to one of the backup pumps, he took out the valve and then let her replace the O-rings and secure the valve back in. He checked her work and gave her a thumbs-up.

They left the engine room, and Kara took off her earmuffs and wiped the perspiration off her forehead with the back of her hand. She felt a thin layer of oil across her face, and the taste of diesel fuel lingered on her tongue.

“What did you think?” Alden asked her, brushing back his jet-black hair.

“That place is amazing. Thanks for taking me down there.”

Alden laughed. “Glad you think so now. We’ll see how you feel about it after spending a few hundred hours down there.”

“I’m really going to get to go back?”

“If you’re up for it,” Alden said, leading them back up the ladders to the main corridor.

“Definitely,” Kara said. “I’m not a scientist, so there’s not a hell of a lot I can really do to help in the lab. My dad’s not going to let me out in the field as a Hunter anytime soon. But I’d love to do what I can to help in here.”

“We can make that happen.” Alden guided them into the mess and started preparing coffee. Grease covered one of his cheeks. There also seemed to be a permanent layer of black oil under his nails. Kara wondered if that was her future. She realized she was fine if it was. “But just like those others’ skills, don’t think you can just learn this overnight.”

Kara took a cup of coffee from Alden, and they sat at one of the tables. “That’s not going to be an issue. I was planning on becoming a veterinarian before. That meant at least another eight years of schooling for me.”

“It takes several months of training to become an engine tech so that you can do the basics. If you want to become an engineer like me, you better add a few years.” Alden traced his finger around the lip of his coffee mug. “Gaining true expertise takes a lifetime, though.”

Kara sighed, putting her mug down on the cable. “At the rate this war is going, it looks like I’ll have more than enough time to become an expert.”

-24-

The Karlstad had disappeared beyond the horizon, but Thomas would not let it get away. He stood at the chart table in the bridge, his palms spread over the map before him. Cliff Slaton, officer of the watch, gave Thomas a nervous glance from behind his position at the controls.

“Where do you think they’re headed?” Cliff asked.

“Hard to say.” Thomas traced his finger over the route the Karlstad had taken so far. They’d punched straight through the Strait of Gibraltar, close enough Thomas imagined he could hear the shrieks of the Hybrids in Tangier. Now they seemed to be on a collision course with the Mediterranean. “I doubt they’re planning on taking us to Santorini.”

“I could use a glass of wine,” Cliff said. The man looked like he belonged on the beach with his tanned skin, watery blue irises, and sandy hair. His surfer-dude appearance, though, belied his skill as a ship’s pilot. “Even if we don’t get to visit a nice resort, at least we didn’t go north to the Baltic.”

“A bit too chilly for my bones,” Thomas agreed. “Wherever they’re headed, it’s a dead end.”

Cliff nodded. It would be harder for the Karlstad to lose them here than in the Atlantic. The second drone was still tracing the Karlstad’s path, albeit at a more cautious distance this time. Thomas had hoped the rest of the Hunters would soon be joining them in this chase, but it seemed that was not to be.

“We’ve got a Goliath incoming.” Dom’s voice sounded from the radio. “Headed our way, along with enough gunfire to attract a pack of Skulls.”

“Damn it,” Thomas said. One shitty situation after another. He’d once sailed across the Atlantic in an old cutter. The whole damn time they’d been pounded by storms and rogue waves. That had been an exhausting week. But this? This was worse than scuba diving in shark-infested waters with a bleeding wound. “If you guys need to leave, I can still turn around.”

“You won’t be here before Ronaldo,” Dom said. “Stay on the Karlstad. I just want you to be aware of our situation so you’re not waiting up late for me when I come home, old man.”

“I gave up on a curfew for you long ago,” Thomas shot back. “You’re worse than the teenaged son I probably have in some distant port.”

“Well, I hope Samantha and Chao aren’t getting bored of changing your adult diapers back there, because it looks like we’ll be busy for a while.”

“I’m not much of a diaper changer,” Samantha said, hopping on the channel. “Never liked kids or old people.”

“What are you going to do when you are one?” Thomas asked.

“Already was a kid. Didn’t like myself then.”

“I mean when you’re old and wrinkly and gray like me.”

“Don’t plan on getting old,” Samantha said. “It’s why I do crazy shit like work on this crew. Pretty much guarantees I won’t end up like you. Speaking of my work, we still have no indication the Karlstad has spotted our drone.”

“We’ll stay on them then,” Thomas said. There was silence from Dom’s end. Thomas wondered if he was preparing for the incoming Goliath or if what Samantha had said struck a nerve. The skilled tech specialist wasn’t so skilled when it came to social cues, and with Spencer’s death still raw, her joking about an early demise probably didn’t come across as she’d intended.

The tense minutes stretched into hours as they stalked their quarry. The drone maintained a healthy distance, and the Karlstad showed no sign of evading their pursuit.

“If they hold course like this, we’ll be looping southward around Malta,” Cliff said. “Maybe we’re going to Greece after all.”

“Maybe,” Thomas said. “Or we’re headed to Lebanon or Syria or Istanbul or Ukraine. I don’t much like those options.” Now that they knew the Iranians were working with the FGL, he wanted to be as far from the heart of enemy territory as he could get.

“It’s a good thing we’ve got the drone to do our dirty work,” Cliff said.

“Yeah, good thing,” Thomas said, studying the map. Something about this didn’t sit right with him. He looked up from it. “Cliff, would you say it has been remarkably easy to follow them?”

Cliff cocked his head. “For me, sure. It’s been the drone doing all the work. Chao and Samantha are the two responsible for that.”

“I don’t like it,” Thomas said. “Nothing in this war has been easy. The FGL has made sure of that. So why are we able to track a clone of our ship like this, all by ourselves, into the Mediterranean without breaking a sweat?”

“They want us to follow them?” Cliff offered.

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Thomas said.

Cliff considered that for a moment, his eyes glued to the horizon. “Full stop? Reverse?”

Thomas hesitated. Whether the Karlstad knew they were being followed or not, he couldn’t abandon their pursuit. The ship was carrying enough nuclear arms to wipe out a couple of small countries. Maybe the FGL was drawing them into a trap. But if they turned back now, they’d lose the Karlstad.

“No, for better or worse, we’re committed to tracking these bastards.” Thomas inhaled, puffing his chest out. “Alert the ship. All hands to battle stations. If this is a trap, I want to be ready.”

“Aye,” Cliff said, sounding the alarm. For a while they carried on with no indication anything had changed. But the monotony of the chase was soon broken, confirming Thomas’s darkest fears.

***

Under the glow of the laboratory lights, Lauren deposited tiny droplets of liquid into individual plastic microcentrifuge vials. Each of those droplets contained isolated samples of the specialized chemicals they’d extracted from O’Neil’s biopsy. She could’ve had a machine spit the samples into their little vials, but she didn’t trust the automated processes the Germans seemed to love. While the autopipetting machines were efficient enough, if they made one small mistake, the entire batch of isolated pheromones could be wasted. If she did this dropwise, at worst she would ruin only a single sample.

All the same, it was monotonous work moving one drop of liquid at a time.

“They say it’s meditative,” Navid said as he sat next to her and performed the same task.

“Who says that?”

“My old professor. She used to ask us if we enjoyed bench work like this, and I’d say the multihour pipetting experiments were boring as hell.”

“And your professor said it was meditative?”

“Yep.”

“And how often was your professor in the lab?”

Navid laughed. “Almost never.”

“That’s why she said it’s meditative,” Lauren said.

“Kind of like Tom Sawyer convincing everyone else to paint the fence for him.”

“Yeah, that’s about right.” Lauren inserted her pipette into a source vial with the stock dilution solution. “But I understand the rationale. Grant money is hard to come by. Difficult enough to get funding for a couple of grad students, let alone a piece of automated pipetting equipment.”

“True,” Navid said. “I cost my professor—what?—maybe fifty thousand bucks a year for my tuition and stipend. But an automated pipetting machine could be a cool million.”

“Exactly,” Lauren replied. “No problem if you’re a company like this, though.”

“Man, if the rest of my cohort could see this place now,” Navid said, taking a break to look around the vast lab. “It’s a grad student’s wet dream.”

They both laughed. The door to the laboratory opened with a start. A few of the German scientists looked up in surprise, as did Lauren and Navid. The scientific lead of the operation, Felix Becker, strode in.

“It is good to see you two delving so furiously into your work,” he said.

The smile faded from Lauren’s face. She couldn’t tell if he was sincere or chastising them for laughing. She figured the best course of action was to say nothing and wait for the serious German to explain why he’d come barging in.

Becker examined the trays full of vials. “Our machines are not good enough?”

“It’s not that,” Lauren said. “It’s just this is highly sensitive. It took a lot for me to get these biopsies. I felt a little more confident in my own abilities.”

“That’s what all the scientists and lab techs say before they use these.” Becker patted one of the automated pipetting-distribution machines. “And then once they use them, they fall in love. I guarantee you every person in this room would swear by it, and these are some of the most talented researchers you will ever meet.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Lauren said.

“You don’t already know? Does that mean you haven’t talked with the others much?” he asked.

For some reason, it seemed to Lauren like he was probing her for information. Maybe it was the way he narrowed his eyes or how his lips tightened after he asked a question. Maybe it was just the way he said those words through his thick German accent.

“We haven’t had much of a chance,” Navid said. “We’ve pretty much been swamped with our pheromone research.”

“That is a good thing,” Becker said. Again, Lauren couldn’t help but think he didn’t just mean it was a good thing they’d been focused on their research, but rather that it was a good thing they hadn’t talked much to the other researchers. She didn’t like the vibe she was getting from him. It was like when she was growing a culture full of cells but sensed something was off. The cells looked slightly misshapen or they divided and grew at a slower rate than normal. Invariably, a couple days later she would find evidence of a bacterial or fungal infection after the cell culture media turned a sickly yellow or a bunch of dead cells rolled off the plate. There was always something bad hiding in those suspect cultures.

So what was Becker hiding?

“All the time we’ve been here,” Lauren said, trying her luck, “we haven’t been asked anything about the Phoenix Compound. I’m starting to wonder why you need us here.”

“Ah, well, it is insurance,” Becker said. “I will admit, the manufacturing has gone much smoother than I had expected.”

“That’s a surprise?” Navid asked. “You seemed pretty confident in Mueller’s manufacturing abilities.”

“Yes,” Becker said, “but what I wasn’t confident in was the so-called Phoenix Compound.” He waved his hand in the air. “But enough about that. The compound is a purely defensive tool.”

That caught Lauren’s ear. “Defensive? It can function as a vaccine, which in my opinion is more proactive and preventative than your typical reactive treatment.”

“Prevention is not the same as offense,” Becker said. “You see, we’re not interested in just defending our civilian populations. We’re also interested in taking steps to ensure their safety.”

“Such as?” Lauren probed.

“Our priority is developing vaccines and therapies for the Oni Agent,” Becker said. “But that does nothing to help subdue the population already suffering from chronic, irreversible Oni Agent damage.”

“You mean Skulls,” Navid said.

“No vaccine or therapy is going to help someone who has been mutated to such an extent.” Becker leaned back against a lab bench. Lauren’s stomach twisted at his casual manner, praying he didn’t accidentally bump into one of their sample sets. “We need better ‘therapies.’” He added air quotes with his fingers around that last word.

Now Lauren could tell her instincts had been on the mark earlier. Something was definitely up with Becker. “What exactly were you thinking?”

“I’d like to take this project of yours further,” he said. “I can assign a couple of our researchers to it.”

“Sure, we could use the help,” Lauren said. “I’m very interested to see how we can deploy this in the field. We can put batches in devices like smoke grenades to calm the infected. Make them slower, calmer targets or easier to avoid.”

Becker picked up one of the handheld pipettes. It was the size of a large pen. “See, you are thinking small again.” He motioned toward a pipetting machine that took up a whole bench. “We must think larger. We must think outside our zones of comfort, yes?”

“Okay then,” Lauren said. “What did you plan on doing with our findings?”

“I want to deploy it as a large-scale weapon. Our friends at the FGL were and probably still are planning on controlling massive armies of these so-called Skulls. Why can’t we do the same?”

Good lord, Lauren thought. Mobilizing the enemy’s weapons against them. “Do we have the capability to produce that much of the pheromone when we’re working on the Phoenix Compound, too?”

“We will find a way,” Becker said. “But that is not your concern.” He tapped one of the plastic vials with the biopsy samples. “Let me know as soon as you’ve isolated and identified the chemical constituents of these samples. My team can scale them up to weapons-grade standards.”

Navid stared wide-eyed between them, probably imagining what it would be like for them to control the bastards that had plagued them in their quest to stop the Oni Agent. She took a certain, although probably premature, satisfaction in turning the FGL’s bulldogs on themselves. But even if they did fully characterize the pheromone cocktail, there were many steps to take before translating that into a workable weapon.

“Do you have access to Skull tissues? We’ll need some samples to try the pheromones out on,” she said.

Becker grinned, drumming his fingers along the lab bench. “Tissue samples? We’ve got plenty. In fact, we’ve got our very own army of Skulls waiting just for you.”

-25-

Meredith knelt behind the crates near the hangar’s entrance, her fingers wrapped around her rifle. The rain no longer fell in gray sheets. It had dwindled instead into scattered showers. Puddles covered the tarmac, where a few single-prop planes waited for pilots that would never return. Empty barrels and tanks lay scattered about the hangar as cover. The main door had been shut. Meredith stared out of the cracked glass of the personnel entrance.

Another deafening roar shook the building. Trees shifted across the tarmac. The blast of gunfire came next.

“Whatever they’re firing, it doesn’t sound like it’s working,” Meredith said.

Andris shifted beside her. “It does not sound like there are many people firing, either.”

The others were positioned around the entrance to the hangar. So far it sounded to Meredith like there had only been a single weapon discharged.

“If that Goliath gets any closer, it’ll compromise Ronaldo’s LZ,” Dom said, glancing down at his smartwatch. “Ronaldo’s people will be here within the hour. The last thing we need is a Goliath attracting all the Skulls in the area.”

“What do we do if it does bring all its friends, Chief?” Miguel asked. “Find a new airport?”

“No,” Dom said through gritted teeth. “We’re going to need to hold this one.”

With Spencer’s death fresh on their minds, Meredith knew that Dom didn’t want to risk any more lives. She would have to do it for him.

“Send us.” She motioned to Andris. “We can take care of it.”

Dom looked hesitant. “I don’t know,” he said.

Andris gestured at his pack with its stock of explosives. “We are faster by ourselves, and Meredith has taught me much about stealth. We can do this.”

The rustling of bone plates sounded behind them. “You two aren’t going out there alone,” O’Neil said. “If that thing is bringing friends, I’ll send them back.”

Meredith recalled the blood dripping from O’Neil’s nose during his last attempts to do just that. “You sure you’re up for it?”

“Always,” O’Neil said, eyes narrowing behind his skeletal features. He was yearning for the opportunity to prove himself again.

Dom nodded. It looked as if it pained him to admit it, but their plans would be screwed if the Goliath and a bunch of Skulls decided to rampage through the airport. “Go shut that asshole up. Be quick, be quiet, and be safe.”

“That is my motto,” Andris said.

“Quick, quiet, and safe?” Meredith asked. “Never heard you say that before.”

“No,” Andris said. “Go shut that asshole up.”

O’Neil put a clawed hand on Andris’s shoulder. “I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I like you.”

Meredith opened the door and led the other two outside. Their boots padded against the wet asphalt, smacking through the water left over by the receding storm. The smell of wet earth clung to Meredith’s nostrils along with a hint of carrion from the approaching Goliath. On the other side of the runway, they delved into the trees. Rainwater trickled down the branches and dripped from the leaves. The ground trembled as another roar exploded around them.

Meredith held up a hand to slow them. Adrenaline surged through her at the sound of the Goliath, urging her toward fight or flight. But she fought the animalistic instinct, acting on training and logic instead.

“O’Neil,” she whispered. “You got a whiff of any others?”

The Hybrid raised his face into the wind, his flat nostrils flaring like a bloodhound on a scent trail. “Yeah, there are definitely others. They aren’t close, but they’re out there.”

“Do we have time to take down this Goliath?”

“We got time,” O’Neil said. The muscles under his bone plates tensed, and his clawed fingers clacked around his rifle. Bloodlust crept into the Hybrid’s eyes, turning them crimson. Just being near Skulls had a visceral effect on him that he had to fight to control.

“Andris, I want you to prep a small explosive. Something to pop his head off, but make it as small as possible. We don’t want a fireworks show.”

“That will be no problem,” Andris said, already rummaging through his supplies.

“O’Neil, anything you can do to calm the Goliath will be appreciated,” Meredith said.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m not going to lie, though. Trying to influence those bastards is nothing like a normal Skull, but I will do my best.”

“That’s all I ask.” The stomping grew closer. Leaves and branches shook from the trees. A human shrieked, followed by more gunfire. On her comm link, Meredith said, “Dom, we’re about to intercept.”

Then there was another scream. This one was more high-pitched, and a third quickly followed it, sending a chill through Meredith. These weren’t from an adult man or woman, but rather...

“There are children out there,” Meredith said. All her calm patience and training melted away as the Goliath’s terrifying voice grew. “Move!”

They flitted through the forest. Leaping over gnarled roots and tall pines shedding needles, they pushed through the rain-soaked foliage, barreling toward the Goliath’s bellows.

Then they burst into a clearing. A stream cut through the middle, rushing with the night’s rains. Its muddy-brown waters swirled around five shapes trying to cross it—two adults and what were clearly three children. The children shrieked as they made it to the opposite side. One of the adults paused, taking potshots at the woods from where they’d fled.

Trees bent and splintered to reveal the behemoth that had inspired those children’s frightened screams. An ugly face distorted by curved tusks and small, beady black eyes behind mounds of bony growths appeared. Its forearms, thick as the tree trunks they bent back, were each covered in yellowed, cracked plates. Claws larger than Meredith’s arms protruded from the thing’s fingers.

“That is the ugliest Goliath I have ever seen,” Andris said.

“Can you do something about it, O’Neil?” Meredith asked.

“I’ll try.” O’Neil’s eyelids clenched shut, and his lips trembled.

The huge monster loped across the clearing, catching up to the family. Now Meredith could see them more clearly as they made their approach. They were so blinded by the beast behind them, they didn’t see her or O’Neil or Andris. The father held a hunting rifle, aiming it at the beast when his children—three daughters—lagged behind. He fired, but his shots were no more distracting to the Goliath than the rain.

Meredith sighted up the Goliath’s face with her rifle. It bounced in and out of her aim. Whatever O’Neil was doing, it didn’t seem to be having much effect.

“Meredith, he is bleeding,” Andris whispered.

Meredith didn’t want to take her eyes off the Goliath. She knew what she would see: the blood trickling from O’Neil’s nostrils as he overextended his abilities. He had nearly collapsed before. What happened if he lost control this time?

The Goliath hunched forward, lunging over the stream. He scooped a claw through the wet soil, tearing up grass and dirt. One of the girls tripped. Meredith’s blood ran cold. She started to squeeze the trigger. Firing would give away their position, ruining their ambush. They’d lose their advantage, but she couldn’t watch this girl lose her life.

Then something miraculous happened. The Goliath stumbled. The girl got up, helped by her mother, and started running again. The giant Skull straightened, its eyes glazing over for a fraction of a second. It reached a claw up to its head and squeezed as if it had been stricken with a terrible migraine. In fits and bursts, it moved forward. But the Goliath looked as if it was engaged in some inner battle with its psyche.

Now Meredith risked that glance at O’Neil. Sure enough, blood fell in rivulets from his nostrils. His muscles quaked, and his teeth ground together violently. It seemed as if it was taking everything in his bone-plated body to affect the Goliath. Meredith wasn’t sure how long he would hold out. She wasn’t about to interrupt him to ask.

“Andris, go to the right,” Meredith said. “Stick to the woods and come around behind this asshole. I’m going to intercept the family then distract the Goliath.”

Andris sprinted off, plunging deeper within the forest. Meredith looked at O’Neil one last time. He stood alone at the edge of the clearing, just within the line of trees. Without someone to watch him, she hoped he would be okay.

Meredith exploded across the field. She sprinted as fast as her muscles could take her. All the prolonged fighting and the days without rest had taken their toll on her body. But she didn’t let that bother her. She had a job to do: Save the family, kill the Goliath, and get back to the airport for the evac.

The mother noticed her first. She pointed and yelled something in French. The father swung his rifle around on her.

“I’m a human!” Meredith bellowed, lifting her rifle in the air. “I’m here to help!”

She wasn’t sure if they understood English, but they seemed to at least understand her gesture. The father turned back around, firing at the confused Goliath. It continued toward them, its heavy feet leaving dinosaur-like prints in the ground behind it.

The man ran up to Meredith. His eyes were wide with fear. Mud coated his clothes and those of his wife and daughters. He spoke in a thick French accent. “It is like no other we see before,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “My friends and I will kill it.”

He looked around for her friends, no doubt confused when he didn’t see any.

“Don’t worry,” Meredith said, never letting her rifle drop from her shoulder. “You know the airport? Um, l’aéroport?”

The man nodded vigorously.

“It is safe there,” Meredith said. “I have more friends there. Friends with weapons. They’ll protect you. But you must go now!”

The man hesitated. Then the Goliath let out a strangled roar.

“Go!” Meredith yelled.

The family ran off with no more questions. Meredith bet the father would trust just about anyone willing to step between his family and the Goliath in that moment. After they disappeared into the woods, it was just Meredith and the Goliath in the clearing. A weak shower of rain pattered against the Goliath’s face. Its expression morphed between one of intense hatred and hunger and one of mindless calm.

Most of her life, Meredith had harbored romantic dreams about visiting France—of doing the touristy things like taking the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower, hopping between pastry shops to indulge in carbohydrate-laden treats. More recently, she had imagined sipping wine with Dom at a small table next to a garden overflowing with colorful flowers.

This mission to France had healed her of that affliction. She’d had enough of this country. Or at least enough of what had become of it. The only romantic date she was going to have in France was with this Goliath.

“Allons-y, you ugly bastard!” she yelled at it.

She squeezed the trigger. Bullets pounded the creature’s face. Bone chipped and flew. Some of the bullets plunged past the huge bone plates. That kind of gunfire would bring down a normal Skull. To the Goliath, it was merely an annoyance. It raised a huge palm, shielding its face, and barreled toward Meredith.

“Andris, you’re on,” she said.

O’Neil’s efforts were working. The beast stumbled like a drunk sailor on shore leave. Then Meredith saw a flash of black as Andris sprinted toward the Goliath and leapt. He climbed up the spikes jutting from the Goliath’s back until he reached the thing’s shoulders.

Meredith waved her arms to keep the Goliath’s wavering focus on her. It seemed to work. Andris started to secure the C4 near the Goliath’s neck and its shoulder plates. But just as it seemed Andris was almost done, the Goliath’s eyes erupted in pure crimson. It let out an ear-shattering roar and shook itself like a dog emerging from a lake. Andris flew from its shoulders and crashed into the underbrush.

O’Neil had lost control.

-26-

Dom ushered the family into the hangar. Glenn took emergency blankets from the Hunters’ packs and distributed them to the bedraggled group. The parents muttered their thanks from blue lips, shivering underneath the gleaming aluminum blankets. They seemed comforted to discover someone who spoke their language, and Glenn gamely served as interpreter for the two groups.

“Where will we go?” the woman asked, her daughters huddled and crying around her.

“We’ll take care of you,” was all that Dom could say.

He had no idea what they could do for these people. He didn’t want to fill the Huntress with refugees again. It would be too dangerous carting them along while they chased a ship with nuclear weapons. Hopefully Ronaldo would be able to take them in.

“You have come to help people, right?” the man asked. “We saw the helicopter. We have no more food. Those monsters are everywhere. We ran fast, but the large monster saw us. Can you fly us out now?”

“We can’t right now,” Dom said. “Reinforcements are on the way. Just sit tight for now. Miguel, Jenna, think you can give them something to eat?”

The Hunters took care of the family. Dom waited nervously near the entrance of the hangar. Meredith, Andris, and O’Neil needed to focus on their mission. The last thing they needed was him blabbering in their ears for constant sitreps.

He had to trust them. But he couldn’t stop worrying.

The Goliath had been silent for a while, and he started to think that maybe O’Neil had subdued it. When the monster let out a bellow as loud as before, Dom knew something had changed.

“Meredith, what’s going on?” he asked.

“The thing’s broken O’Neil’s control,” she said between labored breaths.

“Did Andris plant the explosives?”

“No, it shook him off before he could.”

“God damn it!” Everyone turned toward him. Dom opened the door to the hangar to continue the conversation without an audience. “How is he?”

“Not sure,” Meredith said. “I’m just trying to keep the Goliath’s attention right now.”

“I’ll be there soon.” He opened a channel to the other Hunters. “Hold this hangar. If you see Skulls, fire. Do not let them take our evac site.”

Then he was out the door. His heart hammered against his ribs with the fury of a Skull ramming itself into a car full of people. Thoughts of the others at the mercy of the Goliath sent him flying through the trees. It wasn’t hard to track down where Meredith was. He just followed the roaring and crashing of the rampaging Goliath.

The sight of Meredith standing at the edge of a clearing gave him some hope. At least she was still alive and well. Then he saw another figure across the way rising to his knees. Andris. But he couldn’t find the third member of their team.

“Where’s O’Neil?” Dom shouted.

There was no response from the Hybrid over the comms.

“He was in the woods to the south,” Meredith said.

Dom scanned the trees, but there was no sign of the Hybrid. The Goliath let out a yell. Globs of putrid spit flew from its lips. They wouldn’t have a chance to search for O’Neil until that thing was brought down.

“Andris, how are you?” Dom barked over the comm.

“I feel like a fish at a fish market.”

Dom wasn’t exactly sure how to take that, but he assumed it wasn’t a good thing. “Anything broken?”

“Not that I know of.” Even from here, Dom saw Andris was clutching something in his hand. “I still have my present for that bastard.”

The Goliath was quickly putting distance between Andris and itself. It was clear the man wouldn’t catch the giant monster.

“Well?” Meredith asked, staring down the sights of her rifle.

Dom tried to conjure a plan, something that would ensure all of them except for the Goliath made it out alive. But right now, he didn’t have anything. He couldn’t wait, either. The more that monster bellowed, the more Skulls would come trampling through the woods after it, compromising their landing zone and screwing their best route out of France.

“You’ve been distracting it, right?” Dom asked.

“I have,” Meredith said hesitantly.

“Keep doing that.”

“You’re kidding me.”

Dom started toward the creature’s flank at a jog and called over his shoulder, “Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?”

“That’s not going to work!” Meredith opened fire on the Goliath, chiseling away at the bone along its face. It let out a guttural roar and ran toward her. Dom slipped into the woods, trying to avoid the monster’s gaze. He crouched next to a broken tree trunk and watched the Goliath run. Each step made the ground quiver.

He had to time this right. Too soon, and the Goliath would see him, ruining his ambush. Too slow, and he’d end up like Andris, chasing after the beast with no hope of catching it.

A layer of sweat formed between his gloves and his palms. He threw his rifle over his back, tightening the strap. He wouldn’t need it for what he had planned.

Come on, come on. Just a little bit closer.

Dom exploded from the woods. He ran low, hoping the Goliath wouldn’t notice him. Meredith yelled and fired at the monster, creating as much noise as possible. The Goliath lowered its head, trying to avoid any more shots to its face. All of that worked to Dom’s advantage. His muscles pumped as he cut across the grass.

When the moment was right, he lunged. His hands found purchase in the grooves along the plates. He scrambled up between the spikes branching off the Goliath’s joints, headed straight toward the weak spot. The creature shook, apparently realizing something was on its back.

Dom’s fingers wrapped tighter around the spikes, but that didn’t stop him from being shaken around like a rodeo rider. His ribs slammed into a spike. Hot pain plunged through his chest.

“Dom, what in the hell are you doing?” Meredith asked.

She’d stopped firing. She wouldn’t want to risk hitting him.

“Taking this bastard down,” Dom said.

The Goliath had stopped its relentless charge forward. Now it turned in circles like a huge, demented dog chasing its tail. Dom would’ve laughed if the monster hadn’t been raking its claws over its back, trying to get him off.

Dom dodged the scraping claws, tracing up the Goliath’s spine. He was attempting a tried-and-true strategy—the one he’d used to bring down the very first Goliath he’d ever encountered. It seemed like so long ago they’d infiltrated that cruise ship in the Potomac. It had withstood their small-arms fire, but there was one thing it hadn’t survived. Something far simpler.

A knife could cut into a minuscule weak point at its neck. That had brought the Goliath down. And that was how Dom intended to bring this one down now—no explosives from Andris necessary.

The Goliath roared in frustration. But this time his cry did not go unanswered. Howls from other Skulls filled the forest.

“Captain!” Andris called.

“I hear it,” Dom grunted, clinging to the Goliath. “Don’t worry about me. Find O’Neil. Get him to safety.”

The Goliath thundered around the clearing, still trying to shake Dom. Meredith fired her rifle into the air and cursed, trying to distract the thing even if for only a moment. It took every ounce of strength Dom had to stay attached to the Goliath while avoiding its pounding claws. He found a new foothold and pushed himself higher, closer to the monster’s neck.

He had to do this quickly. The Skulls in the area were finally responding to the monster’s call. Dealing with this Goliath and a swarm of the smaller bastards was not a great way to welcome Ronaldo’s rescue team to France.

With one hand gripping a plate near the creature’s neck, Dom reached for his knife. Then he jumped upward, planting his boots on the creature’s shoulder plates. He hooked his free hand around one of the Goliath’s horns. With a powerful swing, the knife leapt into the fleshy part of the Goliath’s neck.

Dom sawed through the tough skin. It fought back, more stubborn than leather. The Goliath flailed and bellowed. A storm of rancid breath and spittle flew out of its mouth. One of the Goliath’s heavy claws slapped its shoulder blade and knocked away chunks of its own bony armor. The resulting tremor nearly unseated Dom. His fingers slipped from the knife’s handle.

“You are not getting rid of me that easy,” Dom hissed. He tightened his grip and dug in with the knife, tearing deeper. Black blood ran out from the growing wound. But he hadn’t hit the major artery he was aiming for.

Another howl flew from the woods.

“Dom, we’ve got company!” Meredith said.

Her rifle burst to life, followed by the shrieks of a dying Skull. More of the beasts were entering the clearing, churned on by the Goliath’s frantic attempts to buck Dom.

Dom put his weight behind the blade. This Goliath’s hide seemed tough enough to withstand a Drooler’s acid spray.

“I found O’Neil!” Andris’s voice rang out over the comm link. “He is passed out but still breathing.”

“Take him back to the hangar!” Dom yelled.

The Goliath shook, and he lost his handhold. His fingers stretched out for a new one, but he fell back against one of the spikes jutting from the Goliath’s spine. Blood trickled from the Goliath’s neck, but it wasn’t enough.

“Dom!” Meredith yelled as she fired into the oncoming Skulls again. “Get out of there!”

“I got this,” Dom said. From the corner of his eye, he saw another flash of yellow. A normal-sized Skull was sprinting through the muddy field. Bullets plunged into the sod around it, but it seemed to dodge them with ease.

Then it threw itself into the air, claws cartwheeling until they grabbed hold of the Goliath. While the larger beast was still trying to throw Dom off, this other Skull climbed toward him. Half of its bone plates were scarred with deep gouges. Beneath those plates was near-translucent skin stretched over twitching muscles. It seemed to be fueled by desperate starvation, coming at Dom with ropes of saliva draping from its pointed teeth.

Dom kicked at it. His boot connected squarely with the creature’s jaw. But that didn’t make a difference.

“Come on, Dom,” Meredith called. “We got to move!”

Another handful of Skulls went down under her gunfire. But still others swarmed into the field.

“Chief!” Miguel said over the comms. “Ronaldo’s people are incoming. ETA ten minutes.”

The climbing Skull grabbed Dom’s ankle, threatening to pull him off the Goliath. He tried to fend off the smaller Skull while scaling the Goliath’s neck.

“I’m coming to help you,” Meredith said. “I’m not letting you kill yourself like this.”

“I’m not killing myself,” Dom said. He reached the Goliath’s neck again. But this time he didn’t bother to saw through the flesh and tendons. “I’m going to kill this bastard.”

He unclipped a grenade. The Goliath twisted its head, letting out another roar that battered Dom’s eardrums. The smaller Skull clung to his ankle, pulling with all its strength. Dom threw the grenade into the cavernous maw of the giant beast. The Goliath’s mouth slammed shut, nearly snapping off Dom’s arm. Tusk clashed against tusk. It looked temporarily stunned, swallowing instinctually before roaring again.

Now Dom let go and jumped. The smaller Skull followed, claws slashing at Dom all the while.

Dom ran.

The weighty stomps of the Goliath sounded close behind him. The smaller Skull shrieked.

“Hurry!” Meredith yelled.

He ran toward her as she laid down covering fire.

“Move!” Dom called back. “Move!”

He couldn’t bear to see her get hurt because of him. He stole a glance behind him. The Goliath’s eyes suddenly bugged out from its bony mask. Its gut expanded then broke through its overgrown ribs. Ropes of gore spewed out in an expanding crimson ball, carried by hot tongues of flame.

The macabre debris rolled over Dom, carrying him and the other Skull into the air like shrapnel.

-27-

Meredith dropped her rifle and caught Dom. The impact sent her flying backward with him. Chunks of the Goliath rained around them and splattered against the trees and turf. The Skull that had been chasing Dom crumpled as it fell. Its neck cracked, and its head hung off its now-limp body at an unnatural angle.

And yet somehow, the Goliath still wasn’t dead. Dying, most definitely. But not dead.

“You... okay?” Dom gasped, brushing the ash and blood from his face.

“Christ,” she said. “I should be asking you that question. Can you stand?”

Blood covered his fatigues. She hoped it was all from the Goliath. Dom made it to his feet with her help. Then he looked back at what she’d already seen.

The Goliath’s legs had been severed from its body, lying still like fallen trees in the clearing. It was still clinging to life, dragging its torso toward them. Blood trickled out of the corners of its mouth. Entrails dragged behind it.

After only a few yards, its head slumped forward. Its eyes rolled back, lifeless, and the last streams of blood pumped from its wounds.

The Goliath was finally gone, but its brethren were not.

Screaming and howling, Skulls poured over the Goliath’s body. They tore out of the woods, careening across the field like starving wolves who had seen meat for the first time in weeks. A fresh surge of adrenaline tore through her vessels. She grabbed Dom and dragged him with her. He stumbled at first, slightly disoriented from the blast. Soon they were winding between the trees, chased by the ravenous cries.

“Miguel,” Meredith managed to say between labored breaths. “We’re on route. On your position in two and bringing heat.”

“Copy,” Miguel said. “It was getting damn cold and boring around here.”

Dom tripped, but Meredith caught him. She was worried Dom might’ve been injured. But as they continued, he began running full steam ahead on his own.

Together, they escaped the confines of the forest. Trees gave way to the husks of burned-out cars and abandoned planes littering the small airfield.

“We see you!” Miguel said, waving from the entrance of the hangar.

With safety in view, the pain in Meredith’s joints and the burn in her muscles seemed to return, no longer contained by the blanket of adrenaline. Still, she did not slow. She and Dom raced between the vehicles and under the wings of the aircraft.

The Skulls stayed on their trail. Claws scraped over metal and asphalt as more monsters emerged from the woods. Some wore the remnants of civilian clothes, blue jeans and shirts flagging from their wasted frames. Others had abandoned all shreds—literal and otherwise—of humanity, coming at them naked except for the bone plates and spikes adorning their bodies.

No matter their state of dress, all wore expressions of intense hunger. Lips bared. Teeth chattering. Eyes scarlet and pulsating.

In front of her were Andris, Miguel, Jenna, Glenn, and Frank. They had created a series of makeshift barricades in front of the hangar’s entrance, made from airport vehicles, crates, and even abandoned luggage. Andris waved them onward, and Meredith and Dom ran at full speed for the low wall. The others opened fire.

Skulls fell in waves. Their bodies crumpled and slid across the asphalt or slammed into cars and refueling trucks. They crashed to the ground with cracked bone plates and broken limbs as they ran headlong into the storm of lead.

But what they lacked in tactics they made up for in numbers.

“How are we going to hold this place?” Jenna asked.

“By killing every one of those bastards,” Dom growled, shouldering his rifle. He sent a burst of rounds into a limping Drooler. The shriveled creature with its bloated belly exploded, dousing the nearby Skulls in the acidic content of its mutated stomach. Monsters writhed and fell, their flesh dissolving.

Meredith joined in the chorus of rifle fire. The Hunters were not worried about conserving ammunition now. They had to hold this field at all costs.

The sound of aircraft engines whined in the distance.

“Hunters, this is Lieutenant Peres. We’re making our descent,” said a voice over their comms.

“Copy,” Dom said. “LZ may be a little hot, but we’re doing our best to keep it clear.”

The drone of the aircraft grew louder. A C-130 Hercules was coming in low, headed for the airstrip. Skulls still clambered toward the Hunters across the tarmac. A few looked at the aircraft, but they didn’t comprehend their fate.

While the Hunters struggled to hold the monsters back, the C-130 touched down and screeched over the airstrip. It plowed through a pack of Skulls. Their bodies were crushed under the wheels or exploded into fine red mist as they hit the nose and bulkhead of the plane.

After the initial few collisions, the C-130 made it to a clear patch of runway, coming to a stop. The sight of the huge bird and its still-churning engines distracted the Skulls. Most split off toward it.

But Meredith would be damned if those things took out Peres or his crew. She sighted up a rotund Skull and peppered it with rounds. Geysers of blood and splinters of bone spewed from its chest. It collapsed, carried by its own momentum. Others trampled it into the asphalt, but they, too, met the hail of lead from the Hunters.

To Meredith’s surprise, the back of the C-130 opened. Airmen formed a perimeter around the rear of the plane. They let loose a salvo of fire that leveled the Skulls running toward them.

“Hell yeah!” Miguel said, pumping his fist in the air.

“Ronaldo didn’t just send us the horses to ride out of here,” Frank said. “He sent us the cowboys, too!”

It didn’t take long for them to clear the runway of Skulls. In a matter of minutes, the airmen had brought out their spare fuel and ammunition, loading up the Seahawk with more than enough provisions to make it back to the Huntress as it chased the Karlstad.

Many of the men and women on the plane had seen the Hunters before, but their reunion was short. The pressing need to get to the Huntress and stop the FGL from using those nuclear weapons called to them. Meredith ran back to the hangar where the Hunters had made their base camp. Dom joined her. O’Neil was still unconscious, though the nosebleed had stopped. His ribs rose and fell in a slow rhythm.

“Help me with him?” she asked.

“Of course.” Dom scooped his hands under the Hybrid’s armpits.

Together they carried O’Neil toward the Seahawk. Frank was already in the pilot’s seat, and the engines were warming up.

“Thanks for helping me and Andris out there,” she said.

Dom shook his head. “You’re the ones who intercepted that Goliath. If you two and O’Neil hadn’t done that, the big bastard would’ve wreaked havoc all over the runway. A C-130 can withstand a couple of normal-sized Skulls, but I doubt very much it would’ve done so well against a Goliath.”

Once they loaded O’Neil into an empty seat and strapped him in, they returned to the hangar for the last member of their crew. Spencer lay where they had left him, cold and stiff. There was no peaceful expression on his face. Just a tight, pained grimace that Meredith knew would haunt her—and Dom—for decades to come.

If they survived this war, that is.

Spencer was a big man, more muscle than anything else. He was heavy and bulky.

“Should we get someone else to help?” Meredith asked as they lifted him with far more difficulty than when they’d carried O’Neil.

“No,” Dom said. “We can handle it.” He gave her a raw, earnest look, one that asked her not to press the issue. There was something else behind those words. It had taken Meredith a couple of decades to get to know Dom but only a few seconds to understand why he wanted to carry Spencer himself. It had been his choice that led to Spencer’s death, and he felt the full weight of that responsibility. He didn’t want to burden anyone else with the blame.

Something shifted inside her when Meredith realized that she was the only person he trusted to help him. She’d never expected to have a connection like the one she shared with him, and it had been a hell of a long time coming. Their eyes met for a moment, and Meredith tried to convey all the strength and love she had to give.

“He’ll have a proper funeral at sea,” Dom said.

“I’m glad we can give him that,” Meredith said.

She wondered when they’d have a chance to pay Spencer the proper respects he deserved. The Karlstad hadn’t been stopped, and there was no telling when the FGL planned to make their next move.

Soon, they were saying their goodbyes to Peres and his airmen, who escorted the French family aboard their plane. The Seahawk rose, and the C-130 took off in the opposite direction. It disappeared over the horizon, back toward Lajes Field, and the Seahawk took them to the east, off to stop a nuclear apocalypse.

***

The Skull threw itself at Lauren. The whites of its eyes no longer existed, marred by broken blood vessels and stained a sickly yellow at the corners. Long strands of dark hair twisted from between its crown of horns. Shoulder blades curved out from beneath gray flesh. Long, needlelike teeth clashed together, grinding and chattering.

And if that acrylic partition hadn’t been there, Lauren would’ve been terrified. What was worse than terrified? Good Lord, whatever was worse than that, she was it.

“I’ve never seen so many Skulls in one place,” Lauren said. “I mean, I’ve been off the ship a couple of times, but... wow.”

The Skull opened and closed its mouth against the acrylic as if it could gnaw its way through. Its tongue smeared bloodied saliva.

Navid seemed less impressed. He’d lived through Boston and watched his girlfriend turn into a Skull. He’d escaped dozens of the monsters and even a Goliath. He was no stranger to these creatures in the wild. Still, despite his bored expression, Lauren noticed goosebumps along his arms.

“Ah, yes,” Emma Fischer said. The lead production scientist had taken Navid and Lauren on this tour at the behest of Felix Becker. “It was rather troublesome to procure all these specimens.”

Emma indicated the long hall of individual cells with the wave of her hand. Each cell contained at least one live Skull. Lauren tried not to think about what would happen if the security systems failed.

“So I guess we’ll be able to test the Hybrid pheromone cocktail,” Lauren said.

“That’s right,” Emma said.

“I was thinking about starting with just neurological tissues in a culture dish, though, not a whole Skull.”

“Why not aim high?” Emma said.

Lauren considered the question. In her normal scientific work, the process from benchtop work to testing therapies and medical devices in live specimens was a lengthy one fraught with ethical and moral hurdles. She supposed now that they were testing weapons against an enemy hell-bent on their destruction, none of those rules mattered. Still, Lauren’s ingrained scientific instinct told her testing the pheromones on Skulls was somehow wrong.

She pressed a hand against the acrylic partition. The monstrosity in there lashed out at the motion, clawing and biting like an enraged zoo animal unable to escape its cage. Despite its animosity, its primal hunger, if Lauren squinted, she could see the human it had once been. In her mind, she erased the jaundiced, bony cheekbones and the claws that could eviscerate a man in one swipe. She took away the ribcage protruding from the skin and the elongated vertebrae that snaked along the Skull’s back.

In the Skull’s place, she saw a woman in her early forties. She had dark brown hair and eyes to match. Maybe she had even been a doctor who had devoted her last days to helping her fellow man, trying to stop the spread of the Oni Agent and fighting all the odds in a desperate attempt to save her patients.

And in the end she failed.

How many doctors out there had fallen, trying to save patients that were beyond redemption? All because one rogue group had decided to unleash a biological agent on the world that no one was prepared for.

Lauren’s chest swelled with determination. At least now they had a cure, and production had begun in the US and here in Frankfurt to ensure the cure made it out to the general population. No one would have to face what the doctor in Lauren’s imagination had endured.

“Doctor?” Emma said, drawing Lauren to join them again in reality.

“Yes,” Lauren said. “We can try it on the Skulls.”

“Seriously?” Navid asked, eyes wide.

“We don’t have time for all the usual experiments,” she said. “The best way to test the pheromone devices or weapons is to directly observe their effects on a live subject’s behavior.”

“Don’t worry, Dr. Winters,” Emma said, leaning against the acrylic partition. She ignored the Skull behind her thrashing against it. “All we need from you is to identify the pheromones. We will develop the weapons and the delivery devices.”

“Probably best that way,” Navid said. “I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but we’ve gotten pretty good at dealing with Oni Agent-related biological and chemical-based therapies. Weapons are a different matter entirely.”

“I do not confuse arrogance with honesty,” Emma said. “We brought you to this facility for that reason. We heard good things about your ingenuity when it came to pharmaceutical and genetic engineering.”

Lauren started to nod then stopped. Something about that statement didn’t line up with what Lauren had been told so far about their role at the Mueller facility. Normally what Emma had just said wouldn’t arouse Lauren’s suspicions, but after wondering what Felix’s true intentions had been in their prior conversations, she couldn’t help herself.

“Why exactly were you storing all these Skulls?” she asked. “We only just got here, so it’s not because of our research.”

“They are test subjects,” Emma answered.

“The Phoenix Compound can’t do anything for people in the advanced stages of Oni Agent infection,” Lauren said.

“You misunderstand. These Skulls are not being used to test cures,” Emma said. “We are quite aware that the changes are irreversible.”

Then it became clear to Lauren. She and Navid hadn’t been recruited just because of their familiarity with therapies and cures to save lives. During her time with the Hunters, Lauren had been exposed to all manner of biological weapons, from home-brewed dirty bombs manufactured in terrorists’ garages to genetically engineered viruses developed in multimillion-dollar government facilities. This plant wasn’t just being used to produce the Phoenix Compound. There were far too many people here and far too much work going on before Lauren and Navid had even arrived at the compound. They’d already been hard at work on something.

“You’re developing biological weapons here, too, aren’t you?” Lauren asked.

Emma indicated the Skull with a nod. “Weapons can be just as much of a cure. Possibly even a more effective cure. It is nice that you are trying to protect our civilians from the Oni Agent. Noble, even. But we must also fight back against the Skulls in new ways where conventional warfare has failed. A claw can still kill someone whether they have the Phoenix Compound or not.”

“What about the Biological Weapons Convention?” Lauren asked.

“Gone are the days when that type of diplomatic agreement mattered,” Emma said. “Those rules have been rendered useless by the Oni Agent, and the countries that agreed to them no longer exist.”

That didn’t satisfy Lauren. “Even if you do create something that has the ability to destroy Skulls on that kind of scale, you’ve got to be sure it doesn’t affect humans.”

“Do not worry about that, Doctor,” Emma said. “That is something for us to be concerned about. You focus on your work, and we’ll focus on ours. And if everything goes as planned, we will not only stop the FGL, but we will render your cure obsolete.”

“Why’s that?” Navid asked, seeming offended.

Emma smiled, her teeth blindingly white in the fluorescent lights. “Because there will be no more Skulls left on this planet.”

-28-

A lone wail called into the night. Shepherd fought the instinct to duck for cover. The pop of gunfire sounded a moment later. Then silence. The defenses around Fort Detrick had been vastly improved since the last time he’d had command of the base. Once the United States government began to reassemble itself, things seemed to have improved around places like this.

That didn’t mean the Oni Agent situation had gotten any better.

Kinsey had mobilized troops to intercept the fleet of FGL ships headed to Washington with their cargo full of Skulls, Goliaths, and God only knew what other terrors. And while that was going on, Shepherd had been informed that the enemy might have gotten ahold of nuclear weapons. If what he’d heard was true, there were no American units close enough to the site of the FGL’s heist to stop them. It was up to Dominic Holland’s group to act as first responders to the nuclear weapons threat. The Hunters were risking their asses once again to save a world that had all but written them off.

It pissed Shepherd off, to be honest. Dom and his crew had been through hell and back, yet they were still treated with suspicion by the American brass.

He sucked in a deep breath as he marched through the cold night air back to Fort Detrick’s clinic. The Hunters would be doing their damndest to stop the FGL, but he couldn’t sit back and let them bear this burden on their own. If there was anything he could do to help them save America’s collective ass, he was going to do it.

There was one key question no one seemed to know: What in the hell was Spitkovsky planning to do with those nuclear weapons?

Shepherd had a Hail Mary to answer it.

The sterile air of the medical clinic greeted him, along with the chirp and beep of the equipment. Most of the beds were filled with soldiers and civilians who were victims of the Skulls. Others contained people who had fallen ill thanks to diseases this country hadn’t dealt with in decades, like cholera and tuberculosis. Those had once been relegated to developing nations, but America had been brought to her knees by the Oni Agent. These patients were living—maybe dying—reminders of that.

But there was one patient who hadn’t been brought here because of the Skulls or illness.

“Matsumoto,” Shepherd said, sitting next to the shriveled old man’s bed once more.

The old Japanese scientist surveyed him. There were more wrinkles on his face than an elderly bulldog’s, but there was a lucidity in the man’s gaze that hadn’t been there days before. It seemed the bed rest after his swift exit from the Congo had done him good.

“Colonel Shepherd,” Matsumoto said. He nodded his head slightly as if to offer a polite bow.

“You must know why I’m here.”

“You will ask me the same questions you ask me every day,” Matsumoto said, his English barely affected by an accent. “And I will give you the same answers I always do.”

“Not today,” Shepherd said. “I want to show you something.”

Shepherd moved aside the cup of water on Matsumoto’s bedside table and propped up a laptop computer.

“I want you to explain one more time why you joined Spitkovsky and the FGL.”

Matsumoto’s eyes narrowed, nearly lost in the wrinkles that fanned out from them. “I did not join them any more than I joined the Americans. I was an indentured servant and nothing more.”

“And that’s it?” Shepherd said. “You don’t strike me as a man who works without a reason.”

The sheets around Matsumoto rustled as he straightened, dragging his withered frame up.

“You switch sides like a mercenary,” Shepherd said. “What honor is there in that?”

Matsumoto glared at Shepherd with the anger of a much younger man. “There was no honor when the Americans firebombed my home.” His veiny, skeletal hands balled up into fists. “There was no honor when you killed my parents, my wife, and my children. And when I was forced to work for the Americans, there was no honor in the way I existed, so frightened of death I chose to do my captor’s bidding instead of taking my own life.

“Working for Spitkovsky did not bring me honor, either. But he promised me revenge. He promised me that the Japanese people would no longer be puppets of the West. He promised I would finally see my work come to fruition. That I would finally see my creation take life.”

“Blah blah blah,” Shepherd said. “Old man, this is the same goddamn story you told me yesterday.” He leaned in closer. “Do you ever wonder why the last few years of your life were a blur?”

“The device,” Matsumoto muttered.

He was old, but he wasn’t senile. He remembered what Shepherd told him had happened when Matsumoto was on the Huntress. Dom and Lauren had discovered a neurological implant at the base of Matsumoto’s skull. It seemed to be related to the same mind-influencing technology the FGL had been using in their development of the monstrous Titans. That device had muddled Matsumoto’s consciousness, ensuring he complied with all the FGL’s Oni Agent-related demands.

“You know why they implanted it, don’t you?” Shepherd asked.

“Of course,” Matsumoto snarled. “It made me compliant.”

“It goes beyond that. They didn’t want you to see what you were really doing. They didn’t want you to know that they lied to you. Everything you believed about saving Japan from the big bad West was a lie.”

Matsumoto said nothing, but his glare conveyed enough. This was something he had not considered, but he didn’t seem ready to believe Shepherd yet.

Shepherd had expected just that response. It was how he would’ve reacted in Matsumoto’s position, watching his entire view of the world come crashing down around him. So he’d come prepared. It had taken all his political capital to convince the higher ups to connect him with their counterparts in Japan. Their allies in the Pacific were not faring much better than the United States. Shepherd had finally made contact with a colonel in Japan’s Self-Defense Forces who was overseeing the mission to retake and secure the Tokyo metropolitan area.

“I want you to see what the FGL has done with your creation,” Shepherd said, flipping open the laptop.

Shepherd pressed play. He had gone through the torturous task of screening the videos and images beforehand, picking each for their emotional impact. And judging by the look on Matsumoto’s face, he’d chosen well. There was terror in Matsumoto’s eyes as he watched. On the screen, Skulls ran rampant through Tokyo. Goliaths trampled the wreckage strewn along the once-pristine streets. Through the lens of a CCD camera, a Drooler spewed acid at a family sheltering in a seafood shop. Their screams could not be heard, but the agonized expressions on their faces left little to the imagination. Another video showed a pair of Skulls in ragged school uniforms; they had been no older than seven or eight before their transformation. Together, they tore into a man in a suit, slurping up his intestines like oversized noodles.

More scenes of destruction played across the screen, all showing the Skulls turning on Japanese citizens. Then there were the streets devoid of life except for the skeletal monstrosities ambling between the abandoned vehicles and empty storefronts.

Then Shepherd clicked on another video. This one had taken him the longest to find, but he knew it would be the most important. Strings of paper lanterns hung across an alley. The alley led to a row of wooden houses. Each showed signs of modernization: new paint, electric wires, and satellite television dishes. Despite the recent remodeling, this was a neighborhood Matsumoto would know well.

The old man’s skin went paler than usual. “Yokohama.”

Matsumoto said nothing more, merely stared at the screen. Two Skulls lunged into one of the houses. A woman jumped out of an open window on the second floor. Her ankle crumpled under the fall, and when she stood again, she was limping. The Skulls followed, and they didn’t bow to their injuries when they landed. The woman tried to run, but it took only seconds for the Skulls to tear into her.

“They rebuilt it,” Matsumoto said. “After the war, they rebuilt it, didn’t they?”

“They did,” Shepherd said. “And now look what it has become.”

More images of Yokohama followed: broken glass soaked in blood, glinting in the sunlight. Skeletons picked clean in overgrown parks, the corpse of a Skull draped over an altar at a neighborhood Shinto shrine. This was what had become of Matsumoto’s hometown.

“The FGL did this,” Shepherd said. “They killed all these people with the Oni Agent you helped develop.”

“You lie!” Matsumoto said. “This is not true! This cannot be true!”

Shepherd said nothing as the man cursed at him, reverting to Japanese. His eyelids quivered, and the vessels under his papery skin dilated. His face turned red as he yelled. Shepherd withstood the verbal abuse. He might not have understood the words coming out of Matsumoto’s mouth, but he understood the intent. The old scientist was desperate not to believe the evidence Shepherd had shown him.

A wet sheen formed over Matsumoto’s eyes. A tear freed itself. It rolled and disappeared into the gorges of wrinkles along his cheeks. He gasped for air. “You lie,” he said once again. But this time he lacked the fury of his first declaration. More tears trickled down from the corners of his eyes. Shepherd was witnessing the collapse of the man’s reality. The false walls of vengeance and hope he’d built with the help of Spitkovsky’s lies were toppling, and the truth was all that remained.

Matsumoto suddenly pushed himself up from the bed. Tubes trailed his hand as he reached for Shepherd.

No, not for Shepherd but for his gun. Shepherd swatted the man away. There was no real struggle. Matsumoto was too weak to fight.

“Killing me won’t solve anything,” Shepherd said.

“I was not going to kill you,” Matsumoto replied.

“I won’t let you escape that easily. You cannot take the coward’s way out.”

Matsumoto trembled. Horror had etched itself across his face like he’d stumbled on a field of rotting corpses. Actually, that wasn’t far from the truth.

“They lied,” Matsumoto said.

“They lied,” Shepherd agreed. He’d finally broken through. He paused the videos on the computer. “They played you, but this isn’t over. The Japanese government is working to regain control of the country. We’ve already developed a vaccine for the Agent, and we’re distributing our scientific data to our allies across the world, including in Tokyo. This will never be the world it once was, but we can make something new.”

“Then what do you need me for?” Matsumoto asked. “I cannot offer you anything you have not already accomplished.”

“I’m not asking for you to help us with manufacturing the cure. I wouldn’t trust you, anyway. But there is something I want.” Shepherd was going directly against orders now. The intel passed on from Dom’s group was strictly confidential, but Shepherd would be damned if keeping that intel confidential meant that Spitkovsky succeeded with his plans. “We don’t have much time, so I’m not going to play any more games with you. You’ve seen what those bastards have done to the world. Those same scenes in Yokohama are playing out in pretty much every other country. We all need to work together to stop the FGL.”

“So you want to know what else they are working on,” Matsumoto said, immediately understanding the unasked question. “You already know about the Human Machine Project. Did you know they were working on an airborne version of the Agent?”

“Yes,” Shepherd said. “Right now, there’s something else going on. The FGL stole nuclear warheads from France. I want to know what they’re planning to do with them.”

“Nuclear weapons?” Matsumoto asked. “I... I am not sure what this has to do with the Oni Agent.”

“Tell me, old man,” Shepherd said. “No more being a stubborn bastard.”

He wanted to shake Matsumoto—to take out his pistol and wave it in the bastard’s face—but no threats of physical pain or even death would work. Matsumoto, for all intents and purposes, was already dead. He no longer valued his own life. But there was something that would break the man.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll keep this laptop here, and I’ll glue your eyelids open. All this screen is going to show are the dead bodies and destruction caused by the Oni Agent. You will see every single mother who died trying to protect her children, every single kid whose body was found half-eaten. That’s what you have to look forward to for the rest of your life.”

“Please, no,” Matsumoto said. “I don’t want to see any more. I cannot. I’m telling you the truth. I do not know what they are doing with the nuclear weapons.”

Shepherd hit play on the laptop again. It showed a CCD video of two children running down a street, a pack of Skulls at their heels.

“No!” Matsumoto cried. When he tried to turn away, Shepherd grabbed the man’s chin with one hand and yanked his eyelids up with the other. “I do not know! I was under the influence of that device. Everything is so muddled. It comes in bits and pieces and... maybe I heard something about nuclear weapons, but I do not remember. I do not!”

Shepherd let him go and shut the laptop. “Then what do you remember? What don’t we know?”

Matsumoto’s eyes glazed over. He looked as if he was deep in thought, trying to push through the fog of his mind to discover some treasure that would make Shepherd happy. “I cannot remember anything of nuclear weapons,” he said finally. “I can tell you about the airborne agent and the Human Machine Project or the Hybrids.”

“We’ve been there, done that,” Shepherd said, losing patience. “Even if you can’t remember them talking about nukes, you’ve got to know why they might want one. Maybe they have targets in mind. Maybe you overheard plans to invade Europe or America.”

“I did not hear about their invasion plans. Only about—” Matsumoto’s eyes went wide. “They were tracking the people who tried to create cures and weapons to use against the Agent. They knew about that group of yours that found me—the Hunters—along with some of the work going on in the United States. They did not like the Hunters, but there was something else, somewhere else that they feared. I believe they were working on a weapon, maybe multiple weapons, for the widespread annihilation of the Skulls.”

“Was it here? Fort Detrick?”

“I do not think so,” Matsumoto said. “Unless you are developing weapons we did not know about.”

Shepherd mopped a hand across his face. Christ, the FGL’s intelligence network ran deeper than he had thought. Matsumoto was right about one thing—they weren’t developing any weapons of mass Skull destruction at Detrick. So who was?

“Where was this place?” Shepherd asked. In his mind, he was already cataloguing candidate locations.

“That I cannot tell you. Truly, that is all I know.” A pause, then Matsumoto raised a finger. “Ah, I do remember something else. This wasn’t a government organization. They specifically called it a corporation.”

Shepherd’s stomach twisted. “Was it Mueller Pharmaceuticals?”

Matsumoto’s eyes went wide. “Yes, yes, yes. That is it. That is it!”

In Shepherd’s mind’s eye, he saw the nuclear blast over Frankfurt, wiping out the manufacturing plants, the airports, the train terminals, and the power stations. The beating heart of Europe’s recovery would be destroyed in an instant. Any advantages their side had against the FGL would be lost, and without their European allies, the United States would be next.

He stood and started to walk away.

“Wait!” Matsumoto called out in a quavering voice, sounding exactly like the feeble old man he was. “What are you going to do?”

Shepherd didn’t bother to turn around. “I’ve got to make a call.”

He strode out of the ward, leaving the architect of the Oni Agent alone with the memories of what his creation had done to the world.

-29-

“Son of a bitch,” Thomas spat.

He hadn’t thought the FGL would know about Mueller Pharmaceutical’s efforts to manufacture the Phoenix Compound. But once he’d learned about Becker’s interest in manufacturing weapons to combat the Skulls, he could see why Spitkovsky was dead set on destroying the facility. He just hoped they would have time to stop the Karlstad. From his position on the bridge of the Huntress, all he could do was track the damn ship and guess where it would end up.

Thomas relayed Shepherd’s warnings to Dom and the rest of the crew aboard the returning Seahawk as well as Lauren and Navid back in Frankfurt.

“Spitkovsky will act fast,” Dom said over the comms. “He knew stealing the warheads would not go unnoticed. He’s not an idiot. We don’t have much time.”

“Agreed,” Thomas said. “Give me permission to engage, and I will stop them.”

“I know you would. But the last thing we need is to set the warheads off with a stray shot.”

Thomas knew that was true. He didn’t want it to be, but it was damn near suicidal to attack the Karlstad. Dom and company needed to infiltrate the ship and confiscate the weapons. Still, he’d rather see the enemy ship sinking to the bottom of the ocean, taking the whole goddamn crew of rotten bastards with it.

“Fine,” Thomas said. “But you better get your asses back here before—”

“Incoming vessel spotted!” Cliff interrupted. “They’re headed our direction at approximately forty knots.”

“Jesus,” Thomas said. “Dom, we’ve got company. Permission to engage now?”

“If it’s going to fire on you, then fight back. But if it’s the Karlstad, just get the hell out of there.”

“Copy,” Thomas said. Then to Cliff he asked, “Did the Karlstad turn around on us?”

“No,” Cliff said. “This is bigger than the Karlstad. Much bigger.”

Thomas glanced at the radar. “Good lord. I need eyes on it.”

“Reroute the drone?”

“No,” Thomas said. “We can’t let the Karlstad get away.”

“Aye,” Cliff said. The man looked like he was staring over the edge of a cliff and being told to jump. “The incoming vessel is massive. It must be some kind of frigate.”

The Huntress was capable of handling its own if it was backed against a wall, but it wasn’t truly a warship fit for prolonged sea battles. Sure, they’d had their fair share of naval scuffles, but each time those battles had taken a toll on the ship. She was designed for stealth and speed, not gunfights.

“Shit,” Thomas said, another realization hitting him like a rogue wave. “The Karlstad still knows we’re following them. There’s no other way that ship would be able to find us. We shouldn’t be that easy to spot.”

“That means you were right. We’ve been led straight into a trap.”

And just like Thomas knew the Karlstad’s capabilities, the crew of the Karlstad knew theirs. Which meant whatever was headed toward them knew exactly where and how to strike. His mind reeled. They didn’t know what their enemy looked like yet. They didn’t know what kind of punches to expect. But what he did know was where he needed to block the incoming blows.

“Cliff, get the Gatlings online. Expect a ship-to-ship missile targeting the bridge and the engine room. That’s where I’d fire to disable the Karlstad.”

“Aye,” Cliff said. “Torpedoes?”

“Prepare torpedo countermeasures,” Thomas said. “They’re not going to go for the obvious broadside. If they want to disable us, they’re going to shoot for the forward water intakes. Even a little damage there will foul up our engines.”

“Offensive weapons?”

“Counter with ship-to-ship missiles. Ensure the fifty-seven-millimeter magazines are ready to go, and load the torpedoes,” Thomas said. “As soon as we confirm this is an enemy vessel, we fire.”

On the off chance this was some terrible coincidence, he couldn’t sink an innocent ship. For all he knew, it was a cruise ship full of evacuees. That was unlikely, but he had also once thought it unlikely that someday people would be turning into cannibalistic, half-skeleton monsters.

“Incoming torpedo detected,” Cliff said. A bullet of sweat dripped down his tanned forehead, belying his otherwise calm expression. “Make that three torpedoes.”

“You know what to do,” Thomas said. Cliff engaged their countermeasures. “Swing the ship around eighty degrees to starboard.”

Soon the radar showed they were pointed directly at the ship, presenting the smallest profile possible. The first countermeasure torpedo met its target, and Thomas held his breath. Would they both disappear, signaling the destruction of the incoming torpedo? Or would they both go on, like ships passing in the night?

The first pair of dots on the screen disappeared. It was such a simple way to signal the sudden decompression and release of violent energy. Then the second pair disappeared. Thomas imagined the dark water deep below the ocean’s surface bubbling and heating with the detonating torpedo.

The third pair of dots went out.

“No remaining torpedoes detected,” Cliff said. “Enemy destroyer is still outside visual range.”

“Launch the first round of anti-ship missiles,” Thomas said, “followed by our torpedoes. These bastards will regret messing with us.”

Cliff hit the command that executed the attack. For a second, the rest of the world damn near faded away. There was only the bridge, with Cliff and himself on it. Realistically, he knew the crew was scrambling below deck to carry out their orders. The ship was alive with activity, from Chao and Samantha in the electronics workshop to Alden in the engine room. Others would be ensuring torpedoes and fresh magazines for all the ship’s onboard weapons were ready to go.

But all that mattered to Thomas now was the blinking radar. He watched two dots representing the torpedoes trail another two dots showing the location of the anti-ship missiles. He fished his cigar from his pocket and stuck it between his lips. The slightly sweet taste of the tobacco soothed the fire raging through his bloodstream.

He didn’t expect any of those weapons to hit their target. Whatever they were facing was large and undoubtedly better equipped than them. Still he clung to some hope that they would succeed. He imagined bulkheads tearing wide open, unleashing cargo and crew like the guts of a disemboweled whale.

“Come on,” he said as he watched their weapons speed toward the enemy ship. “Come on.”

The missiles went first. They disappeared from the screen as if they’d been specks of dust and nothing more. Then the torpedoes. First one, then a few seconds later the other.

“Son of a bitch,” Thomas said. He pulled the cigar from his mouth. “Prepare to launch again.”

Cliff gave him a look of concern but said, “Aye, sir. We’ve finally got a visual.”

The image he brought up on the screen was pixelated, but it was clear enough for Thomas to recognize the general shape of the ship. In large white block letters, he saw the number 751.

“That’s a frigate, all right,” Thomas said. Through the comms, he added, “Chao, get me a complete rundown of all Black Sea Fleet vessels in the Russian navy. I’m looking for ID 751.”

“Got a hit,” Chao said a moment later. “It’s the Admiral Essen. Max speed of thirty knots, displacements of four thousand tons full. Known countermeasures include a hundred-millimeter naval gun, an eight-missile UKSK VLS cell, two twelve-rocket 3S90 M Shtil-1 VLS cells, two Kashtan air defense gun-missile systems, two torpedo tubes, a RBU-6000 rocket launcher, and four KT-216 decoy launchers.”

“In other words, they got a shit-ton of weapons,” Thomas said.

“That’s an accurate assessment, sir.”

“Orders?” Cliff asked nervously from his station.

Thomas waited a beat before he made up his mind. “Prepare countermeasures for their next salvo.”

The frigate must have been doing the same. Thomas expected to see another round of missiles headed their way. Soon, the Admiral Essen would open up with the hundred-millimeter cannon, too. He stared at the monitor, searching for the first sign of an incoming missile. What were these assholes waiting for? Maybe they were loading up to unleash a devastating salvo all at once—missiles, torpedoes, cannon. Blow the Huntress away in one fell swoop.

“I know you wouldn’t think it to look at me now, but when I was a scrawny kid, I used to get bullied. Those bigger kids were used to a predictable routine. They throw a few punches, and their target folds. Gives up the money, runs away, cries, whatever.” Thomas tapped the side of his temple, leaning over the console. “What they didn’t like was when I threw that routine off. One day, when one of them looked at me funny, I charged the ugly bastard. I went at him, yelling and screaming and flailing my fists like I was a Skull that hadn’t eaten in months.”

Cliff looked at Thomas, nonplussed. “Did that work?”

“He ran away crying and never really bothered me after that.”

“So you’re saying we go crazy on the Essen? Charge it and fire everything we got?”

“Nah, I’m just telling a story to pass the time. This waiting game is killing me.”

Cliff’s eyebrows scrunched together. “What?”

“Yes, full ahead,” Thomas said with a sigh. Young people today did not appreciate his sense of humor. “Torpedoes, missiles, the fifty-seven-millimeter. Give them everything we’ve got. The only advantage we have right now is unpredictability. That and our stealth capabilities. It’ll at least make us harder to target.”

The Huntress’s engines roared, reverberating through the bulkheads. Thomas braced himself at the console. There was a perfectly good captain’s chair behind him, but he wouldn’t sit. Not in the middle of battle. That wasn’t his style.

“Incoming torpedoes and missiles,” Cliff reported. “Two of each.”

“Countermeasures,” Thomas responded as calmly as possible.

Every time Dom left on a mission since the Oni Agent outbreak, Thomas had joked with him about being left behind to babysit the ship. It turned out babysitting the ship involved more action than he’d ever anticipated. He was too old to play the action hero. His back was bad. He couldn’t run real well anymore, and his shoulder still felt like shit from the time he’d been shot.

But although he might not be hitting the ground with the Hunters, at least on the Huntress he didn’t have to back down from a fight.

The automated Gatling guns on the forward deck whirred to life with a mechanical hiss. The Essen’s missiles were drawing closer, smoky contrails visible over the placid water. One of the missiles exploded in a ball of fire and white smoke. The other met the same fate.

“That’s how we do this,” Thomas said, smacking his fist into his other palm.

Then he saw a puff of smoke from the hundred-millimeter cannon on the Essen. A moment later, a column of water geysered off their port bow.

“That was damn close,” Thomas said. “Too close. Let’s move this thing at a hundred and twenty percent maximum.”

Normally Thomas expected Cliff to complain about straining the Huntress like this. But not now. The engines thrummed louder, and the shaking in the bulkheads threatened to loosen every damn bolt on the ship.

“Come on, you bastards.” Thomas bit down on the cigar. “Tonight you dine in hell.”

Cannons fired on both ships. Water burst all around. Countermeasures flew, causing missiles and torpedoes to peel away from their targets, setting the sky alight with flame. The Essen continued on its path, its broadsides still fully exposed to Thomas. They seemed to bat every missile and torpedo coming at them away like a horse swatting flies with its tail. If they were scared of the charging Huntress, they certainly weren’t acting like it.

A brief flash of uncertainty cut through Thomas. Maybe they should turn around. Maybe they should retreat into the Mediterranean and try to outrun these bastards.

But even if they did turn and run, the frigate had a good chance of knocking them out anyway. Plus he couldn’t lose the Karlstad. Dom might forgive him for punching a couple new holes in his ship, but he’d never get over it if they let the FGL get away.

“Give it everything we’ve got, Cliff!” Thomas yelled.

“I am!” Cliff snapped.

Missiles flew, and torpedoes pierced the sea. Thomas felt like he was stuck in the ocean’s undertow, kicking desperately against its unrelenting power. But fighting was all he could damn well do right now. They couldn’t let the Essen win. That would mean the Karlstad would escape. Dom and the others would be on their own.

It couldn’t go down like that. Thomas wouldn’t let it.

Then he saw an explosion on the deck of the Essen. One of the fifty-seven-millimeter shells slammed into it, ripping into the gunwale. Four more shots hit in quick succession. A fireball erupted from one of the Kashtan air defense systems, and the force of the explosion rocked the ship.

Two of the Huntress’s ship-to-ship missiles slammed into the Essen next. Fragments of metal sprayed from the blasts, and the warship listed hard to her port. Where she was going, there was no turning back.

“Hot damn,” Thomas said, his teeth clamped around his cigar. Adrenaline still surged through him, making his fingers shake. He closed his eyes briefly and relished the improbable victory. The half-crazed charge had actually worked.

But the klaxons on the bridge were still blaring. Cliff’s console beeped an earsplitting warning.

“We’ve got three incoming missiles,” he said.

Even though the Essen was going down, it had still lashed out.

“Countermeasures, damn it,” Thomas said.

His heart pounded in rhythm with the wailing alarms. The Gatling guns sent ropes of gunfire slicing through the air. The missiles were five seconds away now. One disappeared in a maelstrom of angry fire and spreading smoke. Three seconds. Another vanished.

Two seconds. One.

The third missile hit the Huntress.

-30-

Kara wrapped her arms around Sadie. Maggie pressed her body against both of them, shivering. The ship shook as if a Titan had slammed into it. Everything went dark, then the scream of alarms pierced the air.

The sound of boots crashed through the passages outside. A horrible, grating roar echoed through the Huntress. It was as if the ship had been mortally wounded and she was letting out an agonized cry. Maggie barked and snarled, her fur standing on end. Sadie whimpered, and Kara pulled her in closer.

“It’s okay!” Kara said. But she couldn’t hear her own thoughts, much less her voice. Everything was still bathed in darkness. She was certain her eyes were open, but she saw nothing.

Here she was, stuck in her cabin aboard the Huntress, impossibly far from her dad and Meredith and Navid. She hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye to them. Every time they left on a mission, she’d always wondered if they would actually return. She had hoped that part of her heart would go numb, that eventually she would stop worrying. Like maybe she would develop some kind of resistance to the emotional pain just like her immune system grew resistant to illness.

But that hadn’t happened. She’d worried every single day they were away.

And now it looked like all that worrying had been for nothing. She was the one who might not survive whatever was happening now.

“Kara!” Sadie screamed, managing to be heard above the din.

“I’m here, Sadie! I’m right here!”

Sadie buried her face into the crook of Kara’s shoulder. Hot tears soaked through the fabric of Kara’s shirt. Maggie squeezed herself between them.

“It’s okay. I’m right here,” Kara said. “We’re going to be okay.”

She felt like she was lying to the both of them. But then the ship began to settle. Emergency lights flickered on. They illuminated the cramped berth smashed against the bulkhead. Shadows stretched over Sadie’s face, giving her a ghoulish appearance. Tears glinted along her cheeks as Kara stroked her sister’s hair.

“Look. See?” Kara asked. “It’s going to be okay.”

She wasn’t sure if she was trying to reassure Sadie or herself now.

There were no more deafening blasts, no more staccato reports from firing weapons. Only the metallic groans of the ship’s hull and bulkheads as it rocked gently back and forth.

Still, Kara knew something was amiss. There were more boots down the corridors. Frantic voices filtered through the hatch into their cabin. The main lights remained off, but there was something else that seemed wrong.

Everything was quiet.

Too quiet, she realized.

“The engines!” she said.

Sadie looked up at her. “What?”

“They’re, uh, off. I think.”

“Why would they do that?” Sadie asked. “We’ll be stuck here, and they’ll come after us again, and they’ll sink us, and Dad won’t be able to come home.”

I should not have said that, Kara chided herself. “Remember how I told you all about Alden? He’ll take care of the engines, and we’ll be moving again. The guy’s very smart.”

They waited for what felt like a couple of minutes. Still no power. No humming engines. More panicked crew members yelled outside, followed by rushed footsteps, all headed in the same direction.

A sinking feeling spread through Kara’s stomach. This wasn’t right. Not right at all. Everyone was headed toward the engine room. She tried to reassure herself that they might be going somewhere else. The mess was also that direction, and so were some of the crew’s quarters.

“He needs help!” a man’s voice rang out. “He’s not moving!”

“I’m coming!” replied a woman.

Divya. Definitely Divya. Shit, Kara thought. The crew’s footsteps faded down the corridor. They were headed toward the engine room. She was sure of it. Kara felt a tugging in her gut. She should stay with Sadie and Maggie. It was probably safer for all of them. And if she went out there, she’d probably get in everyone’s way. But all the same, she wanted to see what was happening.

“I’m going out there,” Kara said.

“No!” Sadie cried.

“You and Maggie will be safe here,” Kara said. “But I’ve got to go help.”

Sadie continued to protest as Kara slipped through the hatch. She didn’t want to try to explain her gut feelings to her sister. It already sounded stupid enough in her head. All the same, Kara followed the stomping footsteps down the darkened corridors. Red lights cast a hellish glow between the wan yellow emergency lights. The acrid scent of oil wafted toward her, and the air grew uncomfortably hot.

She weaved between the people standing at the open hatch to the engine room. A latticework of pipes and bent bulkhead cut off half of the space where the fire had taken hold. Amid clouds of gray smoke, she saw a body.

“Jesus!” someone yelled. “Somebody go get him.”

Another crew member, his face blackened with soot, said, “I can’t get back there! It’s too tight.”

“I can’t reach him, either,” Divya said from near the hatch. Her eyes searched the crowd. They met Kara’s gaze.

The cries of the other crew members trying to fight the blaze seemed to fade away as she walked toward Divya. There was panic in the doctor’s eyes.

This was bad. Very bad.

“What’s going on?” Kara asked.

It was a dumb question, but she didn’t know what else to say. Someone was trapped. There were crew members working to move the debris, but the fires were still flickering in there. The two crew members with fire extinguishers couldn’t get past the fallen pipes. The white powder covering the rest of the engine room and the corridor showed the fire suppression systems had activated, but for some reason, they hadn’t gone off everywhere. Either there was a malfunction, or they had been destroyed in the blast that had rocked the ship. Judging by the state of the engine room, she figured she knew which one it was.

“Someone’s hurt in there,” Divya said.

“How bad is he hurt?”

“All we know is he’s unconscious. We can’t reach him.”

Now Kara understood why Divya had singled her out from the crowd. “I’ll do it,” she said without hesitation.

There was a look of uncertainty on Divya’s face. Kara and the doctor both knew what her father would say in a situation like this. He’d tell her to go back to her cabin and keep an eye on Sadie.

“Be careful!” Divya said.

Kara was already running to the pipes. The people clearing the debris made way for her. There was only a small gap, maybe a foot and a half wide and half that in height. No wonder the others hadn’t been able to reach this person.

She ducked low, trying to suck in a deep breath that wasn’t clogged with dark smoke. The air scratched at her throat.

Okay, Kara, you got this.

She reached through the narrow hole. Metal pushed against her shoulders. Her hands searched for purchase as the sweltering heat wrapped her in its relentless embrace. Smoke stung her eyes, and pain ignited in her shoulders. With a primal yell, she forced her shoulders past the obstacle, bone and muscles screaming at the tight squeeze. She popped through and landed on the other side.

“Here!” Someone passed a fire extinguisher through the gap. Kara took it, pulled the pin, and squeezed the handle. She sprayed around the corners of the CODOG and intake, attacking the base of the fire. Even after she expended the contents of the extinguisher, the flames still raged. She wondered how close they were to finding a fuel line and sending the whole place up.

What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have left Sadie.

Kara pushed the thoughts from her mind. No room for distractions. Her sister—and everyone else aboard the Huntress—needed her to put out this fire. She grabbed another extinguisher someone handed to her and went after the flames again.

Smoke still billowed at the ceiling, but it was slowly dissipating, sucked into the air ducts. The deck and bulkheads were still hot, but Kara felt a cool breeze on her face. She looked up to see...

Stars?

The attack on the Huntress had punched a hole straight through the top deck into the engine room. The sight made Kara’s stomach sick. How many of the crew had been caught in that blast? There was nothing she could do for them, but there was one life she could save.

“Hey, I’m here to help,” Kara said, kneeling next to the man. She brushed away a singed metal plate to reveal a familiar face.

Kara’s breath caught in her chest. Now new panic coursed through her. Alden kept the Huntress running, and without him to direct the repairs, the ship was as good as dead in the water.

There was a knot forming across his temple, and his face was pale. Kara clumsily felt for a pulse.

There it was! She wasn’t sure whether it was strong, but it was there, and that was all that mattered.

“Kara! Give him this.” Divya’s face poked through the gap in the fallen pipes. She passed Kara an oxygen mask, and Kara rushed back to Alden. She placed it over his face and strapped it behind his head. She waited, praying he was okay. Maybe all he’d suffered was a concussion and some smoke inhalation. At least he didn’t seem to have any cuts or burns.

The engine room was in much worse shape. They needed Alden to fix it.

“Come on, Alden!” Kara said. “You’ve got to wake up. You’ve got to!”

Alden’s eyelids fluttered open. He blinked several times before locking eyes with Kara. He coughed violently before he was able to speak.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked. For a second, Kara worried he’d suffered amnesia. “One lesson and you think you run the place, telling me what to do.”

-31-

Lauren rotated a plastic vial between her fingers. The clear liquid inside caught the fluorescent lights. The seemingly innocuous contents of the tube looked like little more than water.

“All the power of the Hybrids, distilled into that little thing,” Navid said, eying the vial. “I can’t believe we got this isolated and produced so quickly.”

“Half the job was done for us,” Lauren said. “All we had to do was steal the work the FGL performed from the Hybrids.”

“Hey, if it works, it works. At least, that’s what my professor always said. No need to reinvent the pipette if it still transfers liquid efficiently, right?”

Lauren loaded the vial into a plastic device that amounted to little more than a sexy spray bottle. “Your professor seems to hand out a lot of life advice.”

The door opened to the lab, and Felix Becker strode in. “Come on,” was all he said.

Lauren and Navid fell in behind him. He marched them through hallways bustling with activity. They waded through what seemed like a sea of manufacturing techs pushing carts laden with cartons of vials, each filled with what Lauren assumed was the prototype batch of Phoenix Compound. The crowd parted at Becker’s approach without even glancing up at the man. Many stared blankly with glazed-over, bloodshot eyes. Deep, dark bags hung under those eyes, and most had hair matted down by oil. They looked more like zombies than the Skulls did.

She knew how they felt. Exhaustion trickled through Lauren’s muscles. At the back of her mind, there was a constant longing for her cabin on the Huntress. And for Glenn, too. God, she missed him. They seemed so much like passing ships in the night, hardly seeing each other before they dashed off on new missions. It made her miss the days when she had a home base in a CDC lab and a normal bed to return to after a long day of dealing with exotic diseases and biological weapons.

But those days had long since passed. Exhaustion was a constant companion, and she wondered if she’d ever feel fully rested again.

Oh, quit the pity party, Lauren thought. At least you’re alive. At least you’ve got a purpose.

She tried to mimic Becker’s confident stride, catching up beside him.

“How do you do it?” she asked as they rounded a corner in an empty hallway. The corridor led to a staircase that took them deeper into the facility.

“How do I do what?” he asked in his strong German accent.

“You and your people must be working overtime. They’re practically falling over. But you seem to be filled with energy. I want to know your secret.”

Becker laughed. “My secret?” He leaned toward Lauren and Navid with a slight smirk. “In college, I double majored.”

“Chemistry and business?” Navid guessed.

“No, chemistry and theater.”

“Theater?” Navid asked. “That doesn’t seem relevant.”

“That’s what my chemistry professors said. But they didn’t understand how to run companies like I did.”

Lauren followed Becker through another door. The cries of the imprisoned Skulls sounded like the wails of haunting spirits. “Maybe I’m missing something, but that still doesn’t answer my question.”

“Ah, but it does,” Becker said. “I am drained, exhausted, vanquished, defeated. I want nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep until this is all over. But I cannot do this. I must lead these people. I do not hide behind my desk in my executive suite, sleeping when they aren’t looking. I am among them as much as I can be. But they do not want a sad and tired leader. They want one that is strong and alive. So I must act like that is me.”

“Fake it until you make it?” Navid said. “That’s your secret?”

“Well, there is something else the theater taught me.” He swiped a hand beneath his eye. A smudge of something came off on his fingertip.

“Is that foundation?” Lauren asked.

“It is.” Becker let out a deep, belly-rolling laugh. “Another secret of the theater: stage makeup. I am acting and looking like I know exactly what we are doing and exactly where we are headed. And if that is enough to keep my people motivated, then that is what I must do.”

Navid raised his eyebrow at Lauren when Becker wasn’t looking. The young scientist was a no-nonsense guy. He appreciated honesty, no matter how brutal it might be, and she doubted very much he had been to many live theater performances.

But Lauren understood where Becker was coming from, even if his way wasn’t how she dealt with such feelings. She had pushed her own physical and mental boundaries when their lab work demanded it. She too refused to sleep when her crew was still saving patients and running experiments.

Becker paused at the doorway to the Skull holding chambers. “Dr. Winters, Dr. Ghasemi—”

Navid seemed like he was about to correct Becker about his title again but stopped himself.

“I trust you,” Becker said. “So let’s keep this a secret between us, okay?”

He opened the door. The voices of hundreds of Skulls slammed into Lauren with an almost palpable force. Their wails resonated in her bones and evoked a deep, primal instinct telling her to run. She didn’t think she could ever get used to this. Her thoughts turned toward Glenn and the others in the field. How in the hell did they go out there to face these things in the wild?

Navid clenched his jaw, standing straight. But Lauren noticed his fingers trembling.

“I will be honest,” Becker said, turning to them. “This is one place where I find it very difficult to act.”

There were guards stationed around the wide space, but even seeing their weapons didn’t make Lauren feel better. She followed Becker through the rows of cells. Skulls threw themselves at the partitions. They bit and clawed until they smeared blood and saliva over the clear acrylic.

Becker paused at one of the cells. Inside was a Skull with one arm. The arm that remained was nearly as thick as Lauren’s torso. A few strands of hair poked from between the horns rimming its head. It hammered on the partition and tried to bite at them with its mouthful of daggerlike teeth. When that didn’t work, it backed up then threw itself with violent fury. The barrier shuddered each time the Skull hit it—and Lauren did, too.

“This one will do,” Becker said. He whistled, and two of the guards rushed to his side. “This will be our first test subject.”

The two guards nodded. One held a rod with a snare at the end. It looked to Lauren more suited for subduing a stray dog than this monster.

Becker noticed her skeptical look. “Don’t worry. We do this all the time.”

One of the guards punched a button beside the cell. As soon as the partition lifted, he slammed the stock of his rifle against the Skull’s chest. While it clawed at him, the other guard placed the snare around the Skull’s neck. The monster screeched as the snare tightened, and the guard pushed it to the back of the cell. The Skull’s shrieking spurred a chorus of hellish voices from the other cells.

“Do you have it?” Becker yelled over the cacophony.

“Have what?” Lauren said, still trying to comprehend the chaos around her.

“The cocktail.” He held out a hand.

“Ah!” Lauren fished the spray canister from her pocket and handed it to Becker. He tossed it to the guard nearest him.

“Spray!” Becker said.

The guard approached the Skull as if he were wielding a canister of pepper spray. He aimed at the Skull’s face and let loose a concentrated stream of the liquid. The liquid dripped over the bumps and spikes along the Skull’s face, and its deep, enraged breaths sucked droplets of the solution into its mouth. Its red eyes widened, and it thrashed against the snare. The guard restraining the Skull was shaking. He seemed ready to lose control.

Lauren took a step back. Navid did, too. But Becker stepped right into the cell with the guards.

“Should I shoot it?” the guard yelled over the creature’s cries.

Becker calmly held up a hand, shaking his head. He moved closer to the Skull then turned to Lauren. He winked. “I trust my scientists.”

Lauren opened her mouth, ready to plead with him to step away from the Skull. No experiment worked the first time. Especially not something like this. They’d skipped over the battery of lab experiments she would normally perform before trying the pheromones on a living being.

The Skull slammed its fists on the snare, pulling the guard toward him. It headbutted the guard. His fingers loosened around the snare, and the Skull got loose. It whipped its grotesquely overmuscled arm at the other guard. The man’s head cracked against the wall, and he fell forward.

The Skull stalked toward Becker, claws outstretched and teeth snapping. Its red eyes locked with the German scientist’s, and Becker threw up his hands, shielding himself against the attack.

Lauren already knew what would happen next. His feeble defense would do nothing against the claws and teeth. His flesh would be hanging off his bones in ribbons, blood pooling around his body. Then the Skull would be on her and Navid. She could hear the footsteps of guards rushing to their aid, and the other two were recovering. But it would be too late. Becker would be dead because of his hubris. Because he trusted Lauren and Navid too much.

“Holy shit,” Navid muttered.

Suddenly, the howls of the other Skulls sounded as if they were miles away, along with the panicked shouts of the guards. Becker was still alive. The Skull had stopped in front of him. Its bloodshot eyes stared at a point only it could see. Saliva dripped from its mouth, and its claws hung limp by its side. Slowly, Becker lowered his arms. The guards both stood and secured the snare around the Skull’s neck once more.

It hardly mattered now. The Skull was a standing vegetable. The experimental calming solution had worked.

***

“Damn them all to hell!” Admiral Mokri said, slamming his fist on the console. The calm blue seas around the Karlstad belied the fury aboard his ship. They had made it to the Balkans, and they were almost ready to unload their precious cargo in Dubrovnik.

But the Hunters were making that more difficult than it should be.

“Tell me that the radar is lying,” Mokri said, glaring at Daftary.

The lieutenant shivered, unable to look Mokri in the eye. At that moment, he seemed more afraid of Mokri than he was of the Hybrids. “No, I am afraid not. The Essen has been sunk.”

“Bastards,” Mokri said. “And the Huntress?”

“It is still there,” Daftary said. “But its speed... it is slowing. The Essen hit it with at least one missile before she sank.”

“What kind of damage can we expect from that?” Mokri asked.

“Based on the Essen’s last transmission, they were aiming for the engine room as we advised,” he said. “Judging by the rate of deceleration, it would seem their aim was true. There are bound to be casualties as well.”

“This could all be a feint,” Mokri said. He paced the bridge, his mind racing. Spitkovsky would not be pleased to know the Huntress was anything but underwater. “Still, if they aren’t moving, we may have a chance to unload in Dubrovnik.” Then Mokri pointed to another display. It showed a small blip trailing them from far away. “We are still being followed?”

“Yes, the drone has course-corrected as we’ve made our way toward Dubrovnik. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone is still following us despite their ship being stalled.”

“Then by now they must know we led them into a trap. Take out the drone.”

“Yes, sir,” Daftary replied. He armed and fired one of the last ship-to-air missiles. A plume of smoke carried the missile into the gray sky. For a moment, Mokri wondered if it was a mistake to waste it on such a little aircraft. But he could stand these Hunters no longer. They were as persistent as a fly on horse shit.

Seeing the blip of their drone disappear from his screen gave him satisfaction. He knew he should not be so pleased with himself, but it seemed a way to tell the mercenary Americans to, in their words, “go screw themselves.”

The hatch to the bridge flew open, revealing one of his Iranian guards.

“Rahimi, I told you to knock before you barge in,” Mokri said, enraged by the man’s lack of obedience.

Rahimi didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. Semenov held Rahimi by his throat. The Hybrid’s claws bit into the man’s neck, and Rahimi’s fingers worked desperately to free himself from the half-man, half-monster’s grip. Semenov stalked toward Mokri, his eyes glowing red and his teeth bared like a rabid animal.

“You failed,” Semenov said, his taloned feet clicking along the deck.

“Put that man down,” Mokri said. He fought the instinct to step back from the approaching monster.

Semenov threw Rahimi against the bulkhead. The guard’s hands grasped at the scratches along his throat, his breath rasping. Color slowly returned to his face, but he didn’t stand.

“You failed,” Semenov repeated. “I could sense your frustration, your anger. And even if I couldn’t, I see it in your face now. I told you to let us do this our way. If you had, the Hunters would all be dead.”

“This is no way to talk to a superior,” Mokri said. “You insolent son of a whore, you were designed to be a soldier, a follower. Leave the bridge and await my orders, or—”

“Or what, you will run to Spitkovsky like a child? You will tell him we are misbehaving? No, you will tell him we did not destroy the Huntress because you refused to listen to me.”

Heat flushed through Mokri hotter than the sun over Tehran. “You are nothing but an animal, an attack dog bred for a single purpose. You only know how to kill. You do not know how to win a war. When they made you this thing, did they lobotomize you as well? Or were you always this stupid?”

Semenov snarled, and he came at Mokri with claws reared back. Mokri stepped back and drew his pistol from his holster. He fired without hesitation. The blast roared in the confines of the bridge. A ringing in his ears replaced the din, and he no longer heard the beeps and pings from the console.

The Hybrid froze, clutching his chest. His claws scratched against the ribs bulging from his flesh, and he looked down at the wound. Then, even through his muddled senses, Mokri heard Semenov cackle. The Hybrid pulled his fingers away from where Mokri had fired. In the middle of the bony plates, there was a smashed bullet in a small crater. A few cracks fissured around it. Only a small rivulet of blood dripped from the thin layer of flesh coursing between the ribs.

Mokri raised the gun to the Hybrid’s face. Semenov’s overgrown skull could not protect him the way his chest armor had. Semenov knew this, too. He stopped laughing.

“You will do as I say,” Mokri said. His words came out sounding like he was talking through water, but he did not let that stop him. “You are tools to me, and you will act like it, only to be used when I say so. You and all your abominable brethren will do as I say, or you will be the first to die. All my men will know this.”

Semenov’s chest heaved, and his nose scrunched. But the fire behind his eyes had been extinguished.

“And do not let thoughts of a mutiny cross your little mind,” Mokri continued, never letting the gun waver. “None of you imbecilic beasts know how to operate this vessel. At the first sign of a plot, we will overload the engine. It will take only a matter of minutes before it overheats and explodes. And you know as well as I do what that will do to our cargo.”

Semenov backed away, never taking his eyes off Mokri until he disappeared through the hatch.

Mokri turned to Rahimi. “Next time he tries to get in here uninvited, you shoot him. Do not miss, or a bullet will find you instead.”

The guard nodded and left, closing the hatch behind him.

Daftary looked at Mokri with concern. “We cannot put the engine into some kind of meltdown. It will not set off the nuclear arms, anyway.”

“Yes, I know that. You know that. Semenov does not, and we will not tell him otherwise. Now, focus on getting these warheads to the Sahand.”

Mokri watched the crystalline blue waters part for them as they approached Dubrovnik. The old walled city and its fire-orange rooftops made for a pretty tourist destination. Many a cruise ship had docked there, unloading passengers at the very port where the Karlstad was now headed. Underneath the gaze of a medieval castle and the watch of the green mountains behind it, the Sahand rose from the water. The newly constructed Iranian frigate was built to handle long-range land-attack missiles—ideal for what the FGL had planned.

“Once those missiles are launched, Frankfurt will be nothing but radioactive dust,” Mokri said. “Their production facilities will be destroyed. Their bioweapons research will be stopped, and there will be nothing to quell the tide of the Oni Agent across Europe.”

“Yes, sir,” Daftary said. “And what will be done with the other warheads?”

“We will arm the remaining missiles,” Mokri said. “But we will wait until Spitkovsky lets my family leave Moscow and every last one of the Hybrids are off this ship. This will be the last time we work for the Russians in the FGL.”

Daftary said nothing more. He was a smart and obedient lieutenant, which was why Mokri kept him around. The man must have understood the implicit threat behind Mokri’s words. The admiral would not stand for this treatment any longer, and now he had leverage against Spitkovsky.

And if Spitkovsky wouldn’t recognize Mokri’s role in the remaking of the world order, if equality couldn’t be had, then maybe it was time for the FGL to have a new leader.

-32-

Dom leapt out of the open side door before the Seahawk’s wheels hit the deck of the Huntress. Smoke wafted from a crater in the Huntress’s deck, and his stomach turned at the sight of it. The ship had taken damage before but never like this. They were damn lucky she was merely incapacitated and not sunk.

“Jesus,” Meredith said through their comm links as the Seahawk’s blades spun down.

“We’ve got our work cut out for us,” Dom said.

His mind was already cataloguing the structural and systemic damage, but he couldn’t tend to the repairs now. He sent the others off to gather more ammunition and equipment, including emergency scuba diving supplies for what he had planned. The hatch to the lower deck slammed open before he could reach it. Thomas Hampton strode out. Relief trickled through Dom at the sight of his first mate. But the dam holding back his emotions burst when he saw Kara, Sadie, and Maggie standing just beyond the hatch.

Thomas grasped Dom’s hand, leaning in to be heard over the helicopter’s engine. “Your girls did good, Dom.” He ushered them all inside, away from the whine of the Seahawk’s engines.

Kara and Sadie both gave him hugs. As much as he wanted to spend just a few minutes with them, he couldn’t. If Shepherd’s suspicions about the FGL’s target were right, they could spare no time for reunions. The future of Europe—and for that matter, the rest of the world—was at stake.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” Kara said. “We know. Just wanted to say hi.”

She was already backing away, dragging a teary-eyed Sadie and a whining Maggie with her. They disappeared down a corridor to the crew’s quarters. Dom wished he and Meredith could follow them. Instead, he turned and started walking in the other direction.

“What’s the latest on the Karlstad?” Dom asked Thomas as they marched toward the electronics workshop.

“They shot down our drone,” Thomas said.

“As expected,” Meredith said. “With the Essen destroyed, they’ve probably got their tail between their legs.”

Thomas laughed. “That’s an optimistic way of looking at it. They’re going to be desperate now. It’s dangerous to corner an injured animal.”

“But at least Ronaldo’s got our backs,” Dom said. “We may have lost the drone, but he still has eyes on the Karlstad, right?”

“He does,” Thomas said. “It’s currently offloading cargo in Dubrovnik.”

“The FGL has a forward operating base in Dubrovnik capable of firing a goddamn nuke?” Dom asked.

“Not quite,” Thomas said. “They’re transporting the cargo to the Sahand. It’s a new Iranian warship made shortly before the outbreak.”

“Long-range ballistic missile ready, I take it?” Meredith asked.

“As far as we know,” Thomas replied. “Intelligence is a bit fuzzy on this type of ship since it is so new.”

“We need to get on that ship and find out, then,” Dom said.

Thomas paused outside the hatch to the electronics workshop. “Ronaldo also offered to send a few of his airmen landside.”

“No,” Dom replied immediately. “Nice gesture, but that’s all it is. They’re good at what they do; we’re good at what we do. They’d be more of a liability than a help.”

Thomas opened the hatch, letting out the sounds of furious typing and buzzing electronics. “That’s what I told him.”

At the sound of Thomas’s voice, Samantha jumped from her seat. She rushed toward them, scooping up a handful of electronic devices from her desk. When she began speaking, her words came at Dom in an energy-drink-fueled rush. “Got everything here you’re going to need. If all else fails, Chao and I picked up a couple of things from our days working with the CIA.”

Dom raised a brow. “It won’t fail.”

“I know, I know,” Samantha said. “But if it does, let’s just say the cyberwarfare division of the CIA has had a hand in keeping North Korea’s missile and nuclear launch programs from misfiring. It wasn’t all incompetence and bad luck. We learned a few tricks from them.”

“Really?” Dom asked, looking to Meredith. He was well versed in the antibiological weapons efforts of the clandestine service, but even he wasn’t aware of all the covert happenings around the world.

Meredith offered a mischievous smile. At that moment, even beneath the dirt and blood and soot, she looked so beautiful it made his heart kick. “That’s classified, mister.”

Samantha distributed the devices to Meredith and Dom. “Just plug or wire these bad boys into any consoles or computers that have weapons control access. And if you can’t find a way to hardwire it, the CIA nicely provided us with some alternative strategies. It’s not going to be easy, but we should be able to override their targeting. The code for that is a gift from Kinsey.”

“General Kinsey?” Dom asked, unable to believe he’d heard that correctly.

“That’s right,” Thomas said. “The old bastard gave us everything we asked for.”

“Jesus, they must be as scared as we are now,” Meredith said.

“Thank you all for your work here,” Dom said.

Samantha nodded. “Wish I could do more.”

“You’re doing more than enough,” Dom said. “We’ll take care of the rest.” Then he turned to Thomas. “How long until the ship is running again?”

“Hard to say,” Thomas said. “Alden took a hard hit. The other engineers are doing a good job cleaning up the mess, but it’s unclear what it’ll take to get us moving again.”

Dom paused before he asked the next question on his mind. It wasn’t necessary for the mission going forward, but there was no way to ignore its harsh reality. “How many?”

Thomas needed no clarification. “Four dead, ten injured. Two of those in critical condition.”

Dom allowed one moment to center himself as he absorbed the news. First Spencer, then this. “Thank you. We’ll pay our respects as soon as we can. For now, we’ll make sure they didn’t die in vain.”

In a matter of minutes, Dom was back aboard the Seahawk with Frank behind the controls. The others—Miguel, Meredith, Jenna, Glenn, Andris, and O’Neil—were there, too, each with fresh magazines and clean weapons.

“Take us up, Frank,” Dom said, patting the pilot’s seat.

“Aye, Captain,” Frank said then scooped up the handset for the comms system. “Badass Airlines understands you have no choice when it comes to domestic and international air travel. You are stuck with us, and for that, we appreciate you. There will be no beverage service. But you’ve got the best goddamn pilot in the world. Thanks for flying with us, and thanks for kicking FGL ass.”

Miguel gave Frank a thumbs-up. “I don’t need thanks. Kicking ass is its own reward.”

“What he said,” O’Neil growled, raising his hands. “These claws will fit nicely in any FGL goon’s stomach.”

“Gruesome,” Jenna said. “But entirely deserved.”

“Humanity’s future is on the line,” Meredith said. “We’re facing extinction. O’Neil can disembowel as many of those bastards as he wants.”

The Hunters went silent as the chopper banked away from their ship, once again revealing her damage. Once they returned, there would be repairs and funerals to carry out. He prayed this mission would not add to either count. They had lost so much already. If they failed today, Lauren and Navid might lose their lives as well, never to return to the Huntress. And if they succeeded, the people of Frankfurt would never know how close they’d come to death. That was the way Dom preferred to work, operating in the shadows without thanks, without reward.

But sometimes he got so goddamn tired of saving the world.

Glenn broke the silence pervading the cabin and began to recite in his deep, rumbling voice,

“Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright. Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

“Amen, brother,” Miguel said.

Beneath them, water gave way to the rocky shore of Montenegro. They climbed over a town perched precariously along the mountainside, intersected by a snaking highway.

As they approached the mountains, Dom spoke up. “There’s no way we can risk an upfront encounter with the FGL in Dubrovnik,” he said.

Dom unfolded a map before them. “We land here, behind Srđ.” He gestured at the low mountain overlooking the city of Dubrovnik. “This should keep the chopper out of the Karlstad’s line of sight. Frank will unload us just under Fort Imperial.”

“Ah, the old Napoleonic fort,” Glenn said, nodding.

“That’s right,” Dom said, amazed as ever at the breadth of the Hunter’s knowledge. “There’s a cable car that leads from Dubrovnik up to the fort, but I suspect that’s going to be out of service, so we’ll be hoofing it.”

“That is good,” Andris said. “Because I am very afraid of heights.”

Meredith looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “The guy who jumps off falling minarets in Tangier is scared of heights?”

“I am scared of them always, but that does not mean I am afraid to do what must be done.”

“If we can find a way to shorten that, it’d be the slogan for everything we’re about to do,” Dom said. “Once we descend into Dubrovnik, we’ll head straight to the port.”

“Straight to the port?” Jenna asked. “I’d love to take a tour through Dubrovnik’s old town. Always wanted to go there. Looks beautiful.”

“Well, the good news is that we’ll be trekking through the city center,” Dom said. “The bad news is that the whole place is bound to be filled with Skulls, so we’re not taking the scenic route to the port. We’ll follow the alleys and walls then slip into the water here.” He pointed to a spot on the map. “The ship is in harbor, but there are no open gangplanks. Plus, we’ve got better cover underwater. Once we’re aboard, we’ll split into Alpha and Bravo. Alpha goes for the bridge, Bravo goes for the missile tubes.”

Meredith smirked at him. “You always save the good objectives for yourself.”

“Alpha, we’ll cut the snake’s head off, taking down any and all leadership,” Dom continued. “If we can stop the launch by taking control of the ship, that’s great. Bravo, you are our failsafe. Take over local control of the weapon arming process. Hopefully, we’ll get there before the warheads are loaded. If not, then do what you can to sabotage their launch efforts. Chao and Samantha will patch in experts from the States to help with whatever needs to be done.”

The chopper skirted low over the spruce and fir trees, kicking up a wave of fallen needles as they passed. Long grass somewhere between green and brown undulated in the rotor wash.

“Miguel, Glenn, Jenna, you’re on me in Alpha. Andris and O’Neil, you’re with Meredith in Bravo. Questions?”

O’Neil raised a clawed hand. “If Spitkovsky is there, do I have permission to tear the bastard into pieces?”

“I’d prefer to bring him in alive, because there’s a lot we need to know from him. But if that is impossible, yes, you have my permission.”

The rest of the flight went by with all the usual banter between the crew. But the normal electricity of anticipation and nerves Dom usually felt before combat felt different. He sensed it in his crew, too. Each mission they went on seemed more important than the last, the stakes higher every time they went into the field.

But this time, it wasn’t just a feeling. It was the goddamned truth.

“All right, boys and girls, one and all, the show is about to begin,” Frank said. “For our first act, we have the amazing, death-defying Hunters. Hold your butts, because this one’s a doozy.”

All to the west, it seemed there was only grass and trees. The low mountain looked more like a big hill. There seemed to be very little in the way of civilization in that direction. Only a few Skulls meandered about the wide clearings. Their gazes were locked on the chopper, but they would pose little threat. Dom yanked open the side door, and the Hunters spilled out after him, immediately forming a perimeter.

Frank offered a salute from the cockpit. “Godspeed, friends.”

“Fly safe, Captain Badass,” Dom replied.

“It sounds so good to hear you say that,” Frank said. He pulled the Seahawk into the sky. The few Skulls lingering in the tall grass went after it, blissfully unaware that they had no hope of catching the chopper, nor of eating it if they did.

Dom paid them little heed. The Hunters crested the mountain over Dubrovnik. There they had the perfect view over Old Town. Church steeples rose out of the menagerie of houses and stores and restaurants, dwarfed only by a tower with a Gothic crown at the northwest of the walls. Beyond the city lay the aquamarine waters of the Adriatic, where the island of Lokrum jutted up with its lush terrain just a short boat ride away.

If Dom squinted and ignored the two warships anchored near the cruise port, the Croatian coast looked like something out of a postcard. But he wasn’t squinting. Sailboats and tourist ferries lay half-sunk, protruding from the protected docks. Through his binos, Dom saw walls and homes pocked with bullet holes. Others had been obliterated, nothing left of them except for a ghostly outline formed by ash and singe marks.

And amid all the wreckage lay the skeletons of the town’s human inhabitants. Crunching through those picked-clean ribcages and femurs were the bringers of destruction themselves: the Skulls. He counted a half-dozen Droolers and a handful of Goliaths among the more common beasts. All seemed to be in some kind of trance, pacing in circles as if they were lions in a cage at a zoo.

“Sweet Jesus, Chief,” Miguel said.

“I’m guessing that’s their alarm system,” Dom said. He had no doubt that the minute they set foot on the street below, the Skulls would erupt into violent action once more.

Between the Old Town of Dubrovnik and where the Sahand was docked stood something Dom hoped he wouldn’t see again. It came out of the water, where it must have been concealed from Ronaldo’s aerial surveillance before. Once on land, it was so enormous it could damn near blot out the sun. It explained the way in which the Skulls were marching around as if being directed by some unseen force. They were being directed—by a Titan.

-33-

Meredith pressed herself tightly into a doorway that smelled of rot and neglect. The smell was nothing compared to the carrion stench of the Skull moving her direction on its mindless guard route. Its taloned feet clicked along the stone stairs with each step. Her muscles tensed as she listened for the telltale sound of crunching glass.

And then she heard her cue. She struck like a viper, catching the Skull under its chin with her knife. Blood sluiced over the Skull’s chest for a few seconds while she held a hand over its mouth, preventing it from shrieking the alarm. The monster thrashed and then went limp.

She hadn’t lost her touch.

Lowering the body, she was careful to minimize the rattle of the dead creature’s bones, letting it lie in a pool of its own blood. When she and Dom had infiltrated locations in the past, they would have to hide unconscious goons in everything ranging from a bathroom stall to a coat closet to avoid one of their comrades discovering the body and setting off the alarm. The Skulls posed no such problems. More often than not, they ignored a dead Skull. The most attention they gave to another Skull was to sniff it, nostrils flaring. Once they were satisfied that there was no fresh meat to be had, they would turn away and continue on their way.

Reaching up, she wiped her blade on the shreds of an awning over a mold-covered souvenir shop.

“Nicely done, Meredith,” Andris said.

The back of Meredith’s neck tingled as she watched and listened, ever vigilant. They didn’t want to risk a shot—even suppressed gunfire—in the infested city. Any attention drawn to them from the normal Skulls would earn the curiosity of the Titan. Every once in a while, the monster’s heavy footsteps made the ground tremble as the beast shifted.

When they had entered the walled-off Old Town portion of the city, the Titan’s shadow had loomed over the walls and spread across the central plaza and street like dark waters rolling over the shore.

The Hunters flitted through restaurants full of overturned tables and chairs and the scent of rotting food, past abandoned apartments with windows broken and bakeries with corpses instead of breads and pastries. When a Goliath lumbered down a brick-lined street, its arms swinging like a gorilla’s, Meredith signaled for the others to take shelter. She found refuge inside a nearby home. The front door swung open, rattling with the wind. Four skeletons lay strewn about the floor next to two armchairs in front of a fireplace. Two of the skeletons clearly had belonged to bodies of no more than four feet in height. It tore at Meredith’s heart to imagine the horror of the family that had died here together.

But she didn’t let her imagination take hold. The stomps of the Goliath faded, and Meredith peeked out into the alley.

“Clear,” she whispered.

Again, the Hunters drifted out of their hiding spots. Slowly but steadily, they pushed out of Old Town. There the ground trembled more violently as the Titan shifted back and forth. The Hunters gathered at the edge of a gate.

“Past that Titan, we follow that road.” Dom pointed to a thoroughfare clogged with vehicles. “That’ll lead straight to the port.”

“Looks to me like the Titan has done a nice job of showing us the way, Chief,” Miguel said.

Many of the vehicles along the two-lane road had been smashed and turned into flattened metal, broken glass. The stone buildings lining the street had suffered their fair share of Titan claw marks, too.

“All those footprints at least give us somewhere to hide,” Jenna said.

“And most of the Skulls seem to be avoiding the Titan’s path,” Meredith added.

“Even they’re smart enough to avoid being smashed like bugs,” O’Neil said. He gazed up from where they were all crouched, stealing a look at the Titan. “I can control those other bastards, but I don’t think there’s shit I can do about that one.”

“Then we do this the old-fashioned way,” Dom said.

Meredith’s joints were already whimpering from all the sprinting, crouching, and climbing. She was older than everyone else out here other than Dom. But she mustered what strength was left. “Consider it done.”

Slowly, she directed them between the buildings and craters of the street, straight toward the Titan. With the water on one side and the mountains on the other, there was little choice. They had to go directly under it. The colossus twisted slightly to its left. Its gaze swept the low mountains, its eyes brimming with an intelligence not seen in any of the other Skulls. Huge claws waited at its sides. A rope of saliva as thick as a suspension bridge’s cable dripped from the corner of the monster’s tusked mouth. Blood vessels like sewage pipes pulsated between the bulbous growths of bony plates over its limbs.

Meredith would never grow used to the idea that a thing this big existed and walked on the land. And now, she would have to direct the others past the humungous brute.

“Andris, spot me,” she whispered.

“I will let you know before it stomps you.”

“Very reassuring.”

Meredith sprinted to the first crater, sliding under a delivery van. A skeleton lay trapped beneath the vehicle.

Hope you don’t mind if I share this spot with you, Meredith thought.

She signaled Andris to slip in next then O’Neil. One by one, the Hunters joined them. All the while, Meredith watched the Titan to make sure it hadn’t seen the snack sneaking near its feet.

They leapfrogged from cover to cover like that. The Titan’s heavy breathing sounded like the whoosh of some enormous engine. The air from its nostrils blasted out like a fall wind without any of the crispness and a lot more rot. Then they came to the moment Meredith dreaded. There was a twenty-yard stretch without any cover at an intersection. Most of the area had been flattened. On the opposite side was a host of shops with blown-out front windows. All would make for good hiding spots.

The only catch was that they would have to sprint directly by the Titan’s feet.

Meredith took a deep breath. Her muscles tensed, and she tried to ignore the burn flickering in her limbs. She glanced up at the Titan one final time. Its gaze remained fixed on some point in the distance. She stood and sprinted like she never had before in her life. Meredith was a long-distance runner by nature. Even back in her high school days, her coach had dissuaded her from the dashes because her physique was more suited for endurance races. She wasn’t a firework, able to explode with a burst of energy; she was the torch, steady and reliable.

But now she imagined her legs working like pistons. Each pump carried her closer and closer to the other side of the intersection. They took her past the bits of flattened rubble and over a fallen lamppost. Her lungs shrieked at her to slow down, and her heart thrashed almost painfully within her chest.

She kept sprinting.

Do not let me have a heart attack now, she thought.

Then she was there. Precious, precious cover. She fought to control her breathing as she panted at the doorway of a restaurant. A menu rotted in a glass panel; the mere thought of food after her exertion was revolting, and Meredith was glad she couldn’t read it.

But she was alive. The Titan had not spotted her.

She leaned against the doorway. Her pulse pounded in her ears, nearly drowning out any other sound. Her lungs yearned desperately for oxygen, and she gave it to them in deep gulps.

Andris and O’Neil dashed across the intersection next, running in tandem. They made it across just as Meredith began to regain her composure. Her senses returned to her as Glenn and Dom prepared to cross the street next.

They could do this. They could actually pull this off. They were ants sneaking under a giant’s feet. Dom’s pack bumped against his back as he ran. But the Titan had no idea what was going on down here.

Let it stay that way, Meredith thought.

Then she heard the crash of plates breaking against the floor behind her. She twisted along with Andris and O’Neil. A lone Skull in the entrance of the kitchen reared back its head and prepared to howl. The whoomph of suppressed gunfire here might draw the Titan down to investigate. There was only one good solution to ensure they stayed unseen and unheard. Meredith was exhausted, but no matter how her body protested, she had to move.

She met the Skull with the cold bite of steel. The knife worked its way between the plates and into flesh like it had so many times before, moving on muscle memory. The monster dropped without making a sound.

Flicking the beast’s blackened blood off the knife, Meredith placed the knife in its sheath. As she looked up from the dead Skull, she felt eyes on her from behind the stainless-steel counter in the middle of the kitchen. Her own gaze traveled upward to see at least ten Skulls—heads cocked, nostrils flaring, and bloodshot eyes laser focused on her.

In unison, almost as if it had been rehearsed, they howled.

***

“Everybody, move!” Dom roared.

The rest of the Hunters charged toward the restaurant. Meredith, Andris, and O’Neil were already in there, and they needed help. Judging by the sheer volume of howling, there were more than a handful of the monsters in there. Fighting Skulls in confined spaces was never good; fighting them in confined spaces with a Titan nearby was worse.

“Almost a dozen contacts,” Meredith reported from the restaurant. “We’re engaging.”

The staccato of gunfire sounded between the growls and roars.

“Chief, we got a new friend that wants to play,” Miguel shouted.

A huge shadow swept over the pavement. The ground shook, rattling what remained of the windows in the stone buildings.

“Bravo, get the hell out of there!” Dom yelled. “Now!”

Andris and O’Neil ran out of the restaurant, pursued by four Skulls. The Titan kicked the wall of the building. Stones flew, and a cloud of dust plumed around the huge talons.

“Meredith!” The Titan was already aiming its taloned foot for another attack. If she died here, like this, when Dom was only a few yards away...

He felt sick.

A dark shape dove through a window in one of the remaining walls. Meredith rolled to her feet, her red hair the only spot of color in the haze of dust.

She sprinted toward Dom. There was no time for relief. Together, they ran down another alley, putting distance between themselves and the restaurant. Another quake nearly threw Dom off his feet. Meredith steadied him, and they dove into another abandoned storefront. Dom rolled over piles of clothing and slammed into a shelf. It teetered before spilling dozens of ceramic doves. They crashed around him, breaking into pieces. Dom pushed himself to his knees. A dull pain throbbed through his leg where it had hit the ground, and it took a moment for him to reorient himself.

Meredith stood next to him, coated in a fine gray powder. She brushed the dust from her face then offered a hand.

“You all right?” Meredith asked.

“I’m not the one who damn near got smashed by a Titan.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She peered out the front window. “Doesn’t seem to have tracked us, but it’s still raging around out there.”

“Sitrep,” Dom called through the comms. In front of him was a shelf filled with red, heart-shaped ornaments labeled “Licitar Hearts.” He leaned over them to stare out another grimy window.

“We are taking shelter in a house,” Andris said. “The Titan has left O’Neil and me alone.”

“That’s because he’s after us!” Miguel yelled, his voice ragged as if he was running. “Every goddamn time we go to hide, it just destroys the place. It’s like a toddler in a Lego city, just breaking everything in its path.”

“The FGL’s going to notice.” Jenna sounded just as out of breath as Miguel.

Dom stared hard at Meredith. They needed to do something. The mission was falling to pieces faster than the buildings the Titan was smashing. Jenna was right; the FGL had to have noticed, and they would probably want to investigate. They needed a distraction, something to get the Titan off their asses.

Outside, the Skulls’ shrieks and howls grew louder. Their claws clattered along the road as they sprinted toward the commotion.

That gave him an idea.

“O’Neil,” Dom said. “Did the Titan lose control of the Skulls?”

There was a pause over the comms. “Seems like it’s not really trying to contain them now. It’s distracted.”

“These things don’t have the mental capacity to multitask like a Hybrid,” Glenn said.

“Damn right they don’t,” O’Neil said.

Dom knew that wasn’t quite the truth, but he let O’Neil have it anyway. He’d seen the way O’Neil needed to focus to effect any real change in the behavior of the Skulls.

“You don’t think he can control the Titan, do you?” Meredith asked, still crouched near the window.

Another stomp reverberated through the store. A snow globe fell off its perch and exploded against the floor.

“No chance,” Dom said. “But we don’t need him to control the Titan. That thing’s attracted to the action as much as the Skulls are. If he can get a few Skulls charging off in some other direction, maybe it will have a snowball effect. Get a critical mass going that sends the others running. And if we’re really lucky, the Titan is going to think they’re running after us.”

“And this time, instead of playing leader, it’ll be just another dumb Skull following a false trail. Only problem is O’Neil is going to be competing with the Titan for control.” Meredith turned from the window, stepping over a pile of sodden travel books. “He can’t run from Skulls while trying to convince them to go off on some wild goose chase.”

“He needs cover.” Dom slammed a fresh magazine into place. His crew was in immediate danger. They couldn’t run from the Titan all day. Eventually that huge bastard was going to get lucky and smash the rest of them like insects. They’d already lost Spencer and four other crew members back on the Huntress. He couldn’t stand to lose anyone else. “We can rendezvous with O’Neil and Andris then get the Titan off our asses.”

Meredith opened her mouth to speak. A thundering roar cut her off.

Once the Titan’s frustrated yell dwindled, Meredith said, “We don’t have time.”

“We have no choice.”

“We do,” Meredith said. “No good plan survives contact with the enemy. This one’s no different. Let me take Bravo and distract the Titan.”

That caught Dom off guard. “I’m not leaving you out here with that monster, Mere. No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way,” Meredith said. “Look, Andris and I have survived a Titan or two before, and this time we’ve got O’Neil. You and Alpha have the most crucial role. If you guys don’t succeed, a whole lot more people are dying. I don’t want that blood on my hands because I was too chickenshit to do something about it.” She leaned in close, her angry green eyes locked with his. “And I know you would feel the same way.”

Dom wanted to argue. At that moment, with the Titan breathing down the team’s necks, all he wanted was to pull Meredith close, to keep her next to him.

But he also knew she was right.

“Take Bravo closer to the walls of the Old Town,” Dom said. “There should be more than enough places for you to lose him in there. See if you can get the Titan to head toward the mountains. God willing, I’ll see you at the bridge of the Sahand, and then we’ll celebrate on the Huntress.”

After the funerals, he thought but didn’t say.

“Deal,” Meredith said, holding out a hand as if to shake.

Dom took her hand then pulled her in close. He pressed his body against her, and their lips met. For a brief second, electricity flowed between them. The sounds of the Titan and screams of the Skulls muted. And as much as Dom wanted to live in that moment, he couldn’t delay any longer.

“There’s more where that came from after this is over,” Dom said.

“Then I guess I better hurry.”

They spilled out the front door. It was easy enough to spot Alpha. They were sprinting over a sidewalk with the Titan bounding after them, along with a horde of Skulls. Andris and O’Neil beckoned Dom and Meredith from another storefront. There, Dom and Meredith told them of their plan.

“That sounds like a good time,” Andris said. He unstrapped his MK11 and pointed at his eye. “Let me pull the Titan off Alpha. I happen to know a very weak spot on these Russian monsters.”

“You think you can manage at least a handful of the Skulls?” Dom asked O’Neil.

“I know I can,” the Hybrid responded, his eyes glowing red.

Dom bid them one final goodbye before rushing toward a line of smashed cars. “Alpha, get back to my position. Bravo’s covering us. We’ve got a ship to board.”

Alpha rerouted themselves, and the Titan turned, lumbering after them. The beast unwittingly set itself up for the perfect shot. The report of the MK11 pierced the air. The Titan paused suddenly, its mouth going slack-jawed. Then a devastating roar exploded from its tusked maw. It clamped a huge claw over its eye. Blood trickled out between its fingers, and it turned toward the sky, still screaming in agony.

It was just enough to give Alpha the chance they needed to sprint for the port.

Dom glanced one last time behind him, hoping to catch Meredith’s eye. But she, O’Neil, and Andris were already focused on the Titan and the mob of Skulls milling about its feet.

A final thought flitted through his mind, and he had no choice but to utter it aloud over a private channel to Meredith.

“You better be there when this is all over, Mere,” he said. “I love you.”

-34-

Columns of golden light illuminated specks floating in the murky water. Here, the translucent aquamarine splendor of the Adriatic gave way to the oily waters of the port. Flotsam from wrecked vessels bobbed in a cluttered mess. Dom pulled himself past the debris and through a forest of tall sea grass waving in the tide. He checked his pressure gauge.

Almost out.

Behind him trailed the rest of Alpha team. Bubbles streamed from their regulators. Their small tanks would be nearing empty, too. Ahead of them, a huge shape emerged from the screen of floating silt.

The Sahand.

Dom had judged their entry point into the water well. Any farther from the port and they wouldn’t have had enough air and would’ve been forced to surface, eliminating any stealth advantage they’d gained by diving. Any closer and they increased their chances of being spotted when they first dove into the water. That was of course assuming the FGL hadn’t already seen them with the Titan making its rounds.

Meredith’s voice came over the comms. “O’Neil’s riling up a squad of Skulls. He’s got about eight of them around his finger. Now we’re just working on convincing them to head up the mountain instead of toward the Titan.”

Dom would’ve responded, but he had no way to communicate underwater. They’d taken the bare necessity of diving equipment for this mission, and that meant the regulator masks without comms units. He turned to the rest of the crew as they congregated around him, each maintaining neutral buoyancy. He signaled to each of them to ensure they were okay then pointed up. They surfaced together, their bodies pressed close to the curving hull of the Sahand.

Gentle waves rolled against them, making them bob. Dom was thankful the Sahand was in the protected waters of the pier rather than the open Adriatic Sea. Trying to do this in aggressive waves would be exponentially more difficult.

“Miguel, do your thing,” Dom said. He clasped Miguel’s shoulder to hold him in place.

Miguel reached around his pack and pulled out the carbon fiber ultralight assault ladder. He unfolded the ten-meter rods. Glenn kicked his feet, swam over to Miguel, and treaded water, helping to hold the other Hunter in place.

“Kind of like the claw game at the arcade,” Jenna said. “Only backwards.”

“I was always great at that game.” Miguel steadied the rods. At one end was a tactical hook. A lightweight Kevlar fabric ladder hung from it. “Won my girl a big pink teddy bear from the arcade when I was thirteen.”

The rod shook, its movements exaggerated by every tremor in Miguel’s muscles. He pushed himself out of the water, kicking hard, and secured the hook around the nearest gunwale.

“What did I tell you?” Miguel said as he began his ascent.

Dom went up next, followed by Jenna and Glenn. When they reached the deck, they pressed themselves close to the bulkheads. A few crew members rushed between hatches, but the cargo hold had already been shut.

“Looks like they finished loading the nukes,” Dom said. “We’ve got to move fast.”

He considered their next course of action. They were currently at the stern of the ship, near the vertical launch silos with the ship-to-land missiles. If the warheads were on the Sahand, the crew would be loading them onto the missiles there. That was supposed to be Bravo’s job, but that plan had gone to shit. If Dom could stop them before the missiles were armed, it would save them all a load of trouble. Disarm the warheads, get them off the ship, and call in an airstrike. Didn’t matter if the Air Force couldn’t make it over for another few hours or even a day or more; at least the missiles would be disarmed.

“We’re going for the missiles first,” he said. “If we can stop them from being armed, then we can wash our hands of this. We’ll be doing what we do best: getting in and out quickly and quietly.”

On Dom’s smartwatch, he pulled up the schematics they had for the Sahand. Intel on the ship was limited. What they did have wasn’t much more than blueprints from a contractor’s proposal, but it was better than nothing.

“Should have access to the vertical launch facilities down there,” Dom said, pointing to a hatch on the portside. “Miguel, take point.”

“Aye, Chief,” Miguel said, creeping toward the corner of the bulkhead. He peered around it. “Clear.”

The others filed behind. Off in the distance, the Titan still roared, its voice rumbling over the deck. If the FGL was alarmed by the Titan’s actions, they certainly weren’t acting like it. Dom wondered if the Titan acted up often or if the FGL already knew the Hunters were here. Toward the shore, he could see crowds of Skulls swarming the ruins of Dubrovnik.

Be safe out there, Mere.

“Hatch is locked,” Miguel reported. He opened a compartment on his prosthetic arm and placed two wires against an RFID pad. “Huntress, you there? We could use a little magic.”

“Copy,” Samantha replied over the comms.

The lock clicked, and the hatch opened inward. The sounds of voices echoed from below.

“I hear Russian and Farsi,” Glenn said, leaning in to listen. “Sounds like they’re arguing about something.”

“Are the missiles armed?” Dom asked.

“Can’t tell,” Glenn said. “They’re cursing at each other. Not really helpful.”

“Then let’s use the distraction.” Dom signaled Miguel to move forward.

They plunged into the harsh, artificial lighting below deck. A rush of air raced through overhead ventilation ducts and a jungle of pipes and wires. It looked like the paneled walls of the bulkheads hadn’t yet been put in place. Maybe the FGL had absconded with the ship before it had even been finished. Either way, it appeared the missile launchers had been completed, and the FGL must’ve thought they were at least functional. Right now, that was the most important part of the ship to Dom.

A corridor gave way to a catwalk. The voices below that catwalk were louder, erupting into yells. Dom couldn’t understand the words, but he understood the sentiments being expressed.

“They are pissed,” Miguel whispered.

Then there was another sound beneath the chorus of voices. It was the unmistakable clatter of talons and the rattle of bony plates. At first, Dom pictured a gaggle of Skulls forcing their way into the ship. But reality was far worse.

“Hybrids,” Dom whispered. “Careful.”

They slunk to where the catwalk stretched highest over the open space. Miguel made it to the overlook first. His eyes widened, and his mouth made an O shape. Dom joined him. Below them, surrounding the huge upright missiles, a gaggle of crew members squared off. Between them were empty crates and neglected tools.

“Looks like they already loaded the warheads,” Jenna whispered.

But even with their job finished, there was clearly something that had been left unresolved. On one side of the room, the Iranians waved rifles and yelled. They faced the Hybrids, who had formed a perimeter around the missiles. At the center of the group, one of the Hybrids held an Iranian up by his neck. The man’s hands were clamped tight around the Hybrid’s wrists. A stream of red trickled over the Hybrid’s claws.

“Jesus, I thought they were on the same side,” Miguel muttered.

“I think the Iranians thought that, too,” Glenn said. “But they’re telling the Hybrids to leave. That the Hybrids aren’t supposed to be here. I think that’s what’s causing the conflict.”

One of the Iranians stepped forward. Instead of saying anything, he pointed his rifle at the Hybrid holding the other soldier hostage and fired. The deafening report of the gunshot in the enclosed space slammed into Dom’s eardrums. The Hybrid collapsed. Blood poured from its nasal cavity. The Iranian he’d been holding clutched his throat and gasped for breath. Every other Hybrid and Iranian soldier froze briefly.

Then everything went to hell. Gunfire split the air, and Hybrids charged the Iranians. Frantic voices cried out between agonized yells. Blood splashed over the deck. Bullets sparked against the bulkhead.

Dom had expected to run into resistance on the ship. But he hadn’t expected this.

“There’s no way we’re getting down there now,” Jenna said.

“To the bridge,” Dom said.

Maybe they could take advantage of the chaos. In fact, the civil war here could make their job that much easier. As they started out the hatch, the clatter of footsteps exploded just outside. It sounded like another handful of soldiers. Eventually the Hunters would be forced to fight these bastards. But Dom didn’t want to blow their cover yet.

“Other way!” he ordered in a trenchant voice.

They rushed over the catwalk, ducking low to avoid being spotted. Dom prayed the Hybrids and soldiers below were too distracted with killing each other to notice the covert operatives in their midst. Dom lingered near the hatch just long enough to see a group of Iranians lean over the catwalk the Hunters had just left and spray lead into the Hybrids below.

“They’re doing our job for us,” Glenn said.

“Not unless they unload those warheads, they aren’t,” Dom said. He tapped on his smartwatch, and the deck map of the ship reappeared. “We follow this corridor, take a left, then go up a few decks. That’s where we should find the ladders to the bridge.”

They took off at a sprint. The report of rifles chased after them. Between the gunshots, Dom heard the unmistakable ripping sound of a human disemboweled by the claws of a Hybrid. He wished to God he didn’t recognize that noise.

A hatch in front of them flew open. Dom had no time to dive for cover, and neither did the rest of his crew. From the open hatch came a squad of Hybrids. They bore rifles and scowls that complemented the demonic features of their bony masks. Their fury gave way to shock at seeing the Hunters on their ship.

But the shock didn’t last long. With a howl, the lead Hybrid leapt at Dom.

***

Admiral Mokri balled his fist tight enough that his fingers dug into his palms. He didn’t care about the pain. Only about the insolence of the Hybrids. The frantic reports of his crew screaming into the radios set his blood boiling hotter than the sun-drenched sands of the desert.

“All hands are to shoot the Hybrids on sight,” Mokri said. “No questions will be asked. They must be stopped!”

“Yes, sir,” Daftary said, relaying the message to the rest of the human crew from his console.

Other officers were working at their stations on the Sahand’s bridge. As Mokri looked around, they refused to meet his eyes, afraid of both his fury and the shame they must share in having nearly lost control of the ship to those beasts.

“Once those dogs smell spilled blood, they obey no orders. They listen to no words. They only want to feast. They are hardly better than the Skulls or even the Titan.”

“And what should we do about the Titan?” Daftary asked.

Mokri could send the chopper in to investigate whatever had the beast throwing a fit today. But according to the Iranian crew that had been posted on the Sahand before his arrival, the Titan had made a game of chasing any surviving civilians that dared poke their heads up from the rubble of Dubrovnik. Chances were this was yet another such hunt. And if he was being honest with himself, he wanted to keep the chopper and all his loyal crew members close at hand. With the Hybrids in rebellion, he wasn’t sure how long he’d have control of the Sahand—or, for that matter, his life.

Best to have an escape route.

“We focus on the Hybrids,” Mokri said. “And most importantly, we launch those missiles.”

“Targeting now,” Daftary said. “Frankfurt is a lock.”

The lieutenant looked up from his station at Mokri. The admiral had worked beside the lieutenant for long enough to know there was an unspoken question lingering behind his eyes.

Should we lock on to St. Petersburg or Moscow? Do we dare poke the bear?

Mokri wanted control over the FGL. He believed in their mission, but he was losing faith in Spitkovsky. Launching those nukes at Spitkovsky’s stronghold cities would improve his chances of wresting that control from the mad Russian. Spitkovsky’s eagerness to use these monsters as foot soldiers was threatening Mokri’s mission’s success. The man that could happily employ the hotheaded Hybrids with no discipline did not deserve a seat at the leadership table of the FGL.

Mokri thought of his wife and children, supposedly safe in Moscow. Spitkovsky had thought far ahead. They were hostages, ensuring Mokri remained a faithful servant.

Spitkovsky expected Mokri to act like a dog, fearful of getting the switch if he did not behave. But if this was how he was to be treated, then had Iran’s status in the world truly improved since the FGL’s takeover?

No, they had simply traded the overbearing control of the West for the reign of a more terrible leader. Iran should never have offered their assistance to the FGL. Mokri’s government had been too greedy. Rather than relying on the steady course of diplomatic and political maneuvering, they’d decided to go with what they had thought would be the fast and easy method by inking a secret deal with Spitkovsky to divvy up control over the new world order.

But if the Hybrids were any indication of things to come, Mokri could not let Spitkovsky win. There was no honor behind the man’s words.

For all Mokri knew, Spitkovsky ordered this mutiny. It was entirely within the realm of possibility that the Russian no longer needed the liability of other teammates when Mokri had already accomplished what he’d been ordered to do.

Things had gone too far, too fast. He needed to end Spitkovsky’s reign.

There was only one move to make if he wanted to take out the head of the FGL. Launching a weapon that would strike his family as well as the Russian was the last thing Spitkovsky would expect Mokri to do—which meant it was the thing he must do. He prayed to Allah that their deaths would be worth it. At least they would be in Paradise while he tried to fix this living hell for the glory of his countrymen.

“Hold them on reserve,” Mokri said after another moment’s consideration, “but lock on to the alternative targets we discussed.”

Daftary input the commands in his console. Another bridge officer gasped aloud when he saw what those alternative targets were.

“Sir!” the man said. “This cannot be correct.”

Mokri spun on the man. “We are in an active mutiny.” His fingers found his sidearm, and though he did not draw it, he made sure the officer saw. “Are you among the mutineers?”

“No, sir, but—”

“You do not ask questions. Questions are for mutineers.” He tapped his pistol’s handle. “And so are bullets.”

“Yes, sir.” The officer’s gaze returned to his own console.

“Ready the first missile,” Mokri said. “Are our men still in the launch facilities?”

“Yes, sir,” Daftary said. “We sent ten more men there, and at least five of them are still alive.”

Any launch with the men so close to the missile would kill them. They needed to get out of that chamber. He stood no hope of surviving this mess if he lost his crew. But if he waited too long and his men failed, how much time did he have before the Hybrids ransacked the bridge?

Damn them, Mokri thought. May Allah curse them all.

Fresh rounds of gunfire sounded all around the ship. He was glad they were in the Sahand and not stationed on the shore. Spitkovsky had assured him the Hybrids and the Titan would keep the smaller Skulls at bay. A dark thought passed through his mind. He thought he stood a chance of quelling the insurrection here. His crew outnumbered the Hybrids... but if they had a chance, they could control the Skulls. And maybe their influence didn’t extend to just the Skulls, Droolers, and the Goliaths.

“Daftary,” Mokri asked, “what are the odds that the Hybrids can control the Titan?”

-35-

Meredith dove under a table as the roof fell. A ceiling beam slammed into the floor where she had just been. It kicked up a rolling cloud of dust. Roof tiles clattered and broke into shrapnel.

Even as the house collapsed, a Drooler lumbered inside. Its belly bulged, and acid dribbled out of its mouth. It threw its spindly arms back and thrust its head forward. The monster’s jaws unlocked, and a gargling rumble escaped its gray lips. The next thing coming out of those lips would be a geyser of brown acid that would eat through anything that stood in its way.

But that never happened.

Instead, a huge taloned foot landed on the Drooler, crushing it. The Titan’s claws curled around what was left of the roof and began peeling it back. The acid seeping around its feet didn’t seem to bother it nearly as much as it would bother Meredith.

“O’Neil, don’t you have those bastard Skulls moving yet?” Meredith asked. “I could use some help here!”

The Titan peered around the house with its remaining eye. The other was a gaping, bloody hole thanks to Andris’s rifle. Meredith aimed at the Titan’s good eye now, but she thought it might be better to stay hidden. Blinding the monster was bound to send it into a frantic, flailing tantrum.

“I’m trying,” O’Neil said, “but it’s not easy to break these Skulls from the Titan’s influence.”

“If you need backup, just say the word,” Andris said. “I am happy to provide a distraction.”

Any distraction by Andris inevitably meant explosives. Explosives meant noise. Noise meant losing their cover.

She breathed slowly, her finger near the trigger guard. Skulls swarmed around the Titan’s feet outside the house. She pressed herself tight against the wall.

Come on, asshole, nothing to see here. Just an ugly old house with no food inside. Move along.

Its gaze swept the debris. The bubbling acid released by the crushed Drooler spread across the floor. Everything it touched dissolved, falling away as a stream of smoke shifted into the air above it. The acid was moving ever closer to Meredith.

Leave, you ugly bastard.

The acid pooled around the edge of her boot. Lauren and her team had treated the Hunters’ fatigues with an acid-resistant polymer coating they’d developed. It protected against the Drooler’s spray, but as she had discovered the hard way, it couldn’t withstand being bathed in it.

The sole of her boot started to sizzle, and she recoiled, drawing her leg in close. The acid didn’t stop. She scooted backward, but there was nowhere else to go. She had to leave the shelter of the table. She started crawling behind the fallen ceiling beam, praying the Titan wouldn’t see.

Then a wall of angry sound blasted against her. Rancid breath washed over her, filling her lungs and nearly making her vomit.

Her eardrums vibrated from the acoustic assault, and she yelled through her comms, “Andris, help!”

She had no idea if he could hear her over the Titan’s deafening roar. But Andris had never yet let her down—nor could he pass up the opportunity to make something go boom.

Asphalt and chunks of Skulls flew into the air in the most macabre firework show Meredith had ever seen. Chips of the Titan’s armor flaked off in the blast. She ducked behind the ceiling beam as the splinters of organic armor impaled themselves into the walls and rubble around her. Something sliced into her leg, and she yelled out in pain. But the Titan couldn’t hear her over its own wails. It stood straight and began stomping around the street, smashing what remained of the crippled and injured Skulls.

Meredith scrambled out of the house as the Titan punched the building. More shrapnel slammed against her back and pinged off her helmet. But she didn’t care. She was alive, and she wanted to stay that way.

Willing all her strength into her legs, she sprinted down the street and dove into the house where Andris and O’Neil had bunkered down.

“Well, trying to draw the Titan off you guys didn’t work like I had planned,” Meredith said, trying to catch her breath.

“I told you,” Andris said. “We should stick together. Wolves are nothing but dogs when hunting alone. They are only wolves in a pack.”

“Yeah, yeah, you were right,” Meredith said. The Titan was still screaming in agony and pounding the street, but at least it didn’t come any closer. She gestured to O’Neil. “How’s he doing?”

Andris held one hand up and moved it back and forth like a seesaw. “Eh, he is trying.” Then he nodded toward a nearby window. A group of Skulls stood outside, twitching as if being electrocuted.

“That’s all he’s got so far?” Meredith asked.

“I can... still... hear you,” O’Neil said through clenched teeth. Blood trickled from his nostrils.

“Sorry,” Meredith said. “It’s difficult with the Titan, isn’t it?”

“He said that is no longer the worst part,” Andris answered on O’Neil’s behalf. “The problem is something else is trying to control the Skulls.”

“Something else?” Meredith rushed to another window that faced the port. “The Hybrids on the ship. Goddamnit, what are they doing?”

Andris shrugged. “O’Neil isn’t certain, but we are trying to get the Skulls to go to the mountains, no?”

Meredith nodded.

“Well, they are trying to get them to go to the sea.”

“That makes no sense. The Skulls can’t swim. Unless... oh, shit, shit, shit.”

Some of the Skulls broke from O’Neil’s hold and sprinted straight for the water. Meredith ran back to the front window and peered between the broken shards of glass. The Titan had stopped its stomping and now faced the port. It seemed drawn by the Skulls’ desperate charge and took its first tentative step toward the sea.

“They’re trying to call the Titan to the Sahand.”

***

Dom recoiled as the Hybrid pounced at him. He unleashed a torrent of lead into the half-man, half-monster’s chest. Bursts of blood and bone sprayed from the wounds. Somehow, even as the Hybrid hit the floor, bleeding out, the monster scrambled forward, pulling himself toward the Hunters.

“Chief!” Miguel yelled.

He kicked the dying Hybrid in the face, caving in the Russian’s nasal cavity. The other Hybrids charged with all the fury of mindless Skulls. Miguel flipped up his prosthetic and squeezed his fingers together. A spray of acid met the Hybrids. The Hybrids screamed, no longer in anger but in pain. They thrashed as the acid chewed into them, revealing glistening organs.

“Fire!” Dom bellowed.

The Hunters finished the job the acid had started. Those Hybrids still alive had dropped their weapons, swatting at the acid in a desperate attempt to stop the pain. The Hunters made short work of them. Then Dom saw movement at the end of the corridor.

Another Hybrid. This one yelled something in Russian before disappearing back the way it had come.

“Our cover’s blown,” Glenn said. “He just announced us over the Hybrids’ comm systems.”

“Then we can’t waste any more time,” Dom said.

He rushed down the corridor, following the map on his smartwatch toward where the ladders to the bridge should be. Gunfire still rang out all across the ship. Human screams were interspersed with the demonic howls of the Hybrids.

“Almost there,” Dom said, pointing to a set of ladders. “This should take us up. Miguel, on point. Glenn and Jenna, behind me.”

He knew it was an overused expression, a cliché of the highest order. But in that moment, as he looked up toward where the ladders would take him, he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. Every hard-fought step mankind had taken could be erased at the push of a button in a matter of minutes. Lauren and Navid might be swept from this world, along with all the other European scientists struggling to save humanity from utter extinction.

And if he failed, if the Hunters made their last stand here, then it felt as though everything they’d fought and bled and died for would be for nothing.

If he failed, then Spitkovsky and the Forces of Global Liberation would win.

A voice crackled over the comms. It was Meredith, and even though she had bad news, just the sound of her voice lightened the weight pressing down on him.

“Alpha, Bravo here. We got trouble. The plan with the Titan didn’t work out.”

“It’s still in Dubrovnik?” Dom asked.

“Not exactly. It’s headed your way. Don’t know what it’s going to do, but I can promise you it won’t be good. Seems like the Hybrids are calling it there for some reason.”

“The Hybrids have mutinied against the Iranians,” Dom said. “We’re in the middle of a civil war here.”

“Ah,” Andris said. “The Titan is merely the cavalry for the Hybrids.”

“Tell the cavalry to go home,” Jenna muttered.

“I would,” O’Neil said over the comms. “But he’s not listening to me.”

“Fine,” Dom said. “Bravo, we’re about to breach the bridge. We’re going to try to get control over this ship... but if we fail, I need you guys to finish what we started. Get your asses over here as soon as you can.”

With the Titan on the approach, Dom saw the Doomsday Clock in his mind tick a minute closer to midnight. He sucked in a deep breath. They’d lost so much to get here, constantly playing defense. All the Hunters who’d sacrificed their lives... he prayed the world would someday know what they had done in the face of seemingly impossible odds and terrors that would make the most seasoned of horror movie writers piss their pants in fear. Then there were the survivors out there, struggling to hold humanity together. Rory and Rachel, the midshipmen they’d worked with in Annapolis, and the civilians on Kent. The CDF in the Congo and the Royal Moroccan Army.

All of them wanted to succeed against the Oni Agent, and these FGL bastards wanted to erase all of that progress with a single goddamned command.

“Not today,” Dom whispered. Then louder, “Alpha, let’s kick some ass.”

“My pleasure, Chief,” Miguel said before bounding up the ladders.

A group of fifteen Iranian soldiers started rushing down one end. They all paused, looking confusedly at the Hunters for a moment. No doubt they had expected to face Hybrids instead.

The Hunters showed no such hesitation. Fueled by a combination of desperation and rage, all Dom saw was the sights on his rifle. A quick squeeze of the trigger sent one of the Iranians sprawling. Another burst of fire collapsed a soldier who fell forward onto the ladder and tumbled down the steps. By the time the Iranians understood what was happening, there were only eight left. They scrambled for cover.

“Humans go down just as easy as Skulls,” Miguel remarked, before dousing the nearest of the soldiers in acid.

They screamed in agony. Dom watched as looks of terror spread between the other Iranians. The Hunters pressed themselves close to the bulkhead. The enemy’s firing was erratic at best. It seemed they were praying the close quarters and the number of rounds would end the Hunters’ assault. These bastards might be sailors, but there was no way they had experience in shipboard gun combat like the Hunters.

The Hunters came away from the fray unharmed, but their cover on the Sahand was clearly blown. Both the Iranians and the Hybrids would be hunting for them now.

Dom glanced at his smartwatch. Ahead of them was the hatch to the bridge. Miguel sprinted ahead of the group, hurdling over the fallen Iranians. Beside Dom, Glenn’s nostrils were flared as he prepared to run, and a fire unlike any Dom had seen burned in Jenna’s eyes. They gave him a silent nod that told him everything he needed to know.

Whatever was behind that door, they were ready. Nothing would stop them now. Not even death.

Dom tightened his fingers around his rifle and gave Miguel a nod. Miguel kicked open the door then stormed through, yelling like a banshee. Dom barged in with the others, rifles jumping between the bridge officers. One of the lieutenants’ hands shot toward his sidearm, and Dom squeezed his trigger. The lieutenant fell backward, clutching at his chest. The pistol clattered on the floor. Miguel strode forward to kick it away.

“Everybody fucking freeze!” Dom yelled.

Glenn translated that into Farsi. Dom wasn’t sure whether he translated the exact wording of that command, but the bridge officers understood immediately. They held their hands up at their stations. To Dom’s surprise, they appeared relatively calm. He’d barged into bridges before, rifles scouring the room for targets, and inevitably at least one of the officers pissed himself. Funnily enough, the stench of urine often sapped the morale of the remaining officers in those situations.

But everyone here looked at him steadily, without surprise or fear. After Dom and the Hunters had dispatched the soldiers outside the bridge, the Iranians must’ve been waiting for them.

“Who’s in charge here?” Dom asked.

But as Glenn translated the request, Dom realized he hadn’t needed to ask the question at all. Standing at the rear of the bridge was a tall man, built like an athlete past his prime. The slight paunch of his stomach did not belie the confidence with which he carried himself. The epaulets on his shoulder marked him as an admiral.

Good Lord, the FGL really had been betting a lot on this mission to send a bridge admiral.

The man took a step forward.

“Not a step further, asshole,” Dom growled.

Glenn opened his mouth to translate, but the admiral raised a hand.

“I can understand English just fine,” he said with a slight accent. “I must admit, I am surprised to see you on my bridge, Captain Holland. I thought the Hybrids would be here first, but Allah seems to have other plans.”

“No god has plans for you,” Miguel said. “But we do.”

Dom held up a fist to silence Miguel. He understood the Hunter’s anger. After everything he’d endured, Miguel was ready to explode on any Skull, Titan, or FGL goon that stood in his way. But their mission here wasn’t over yet, and Dom still had work to do.

“Jenna, find those transmitters a home,” Dom said.

“Aye, Captain.” She lowered her rifle and took out a few of the devices Samantha and Chao had given them. Jenna started plugging them in every available computer port. When one of the Iranians refused to move from his seat to make room for her, she removed him from the seat with a swift uppercut to the jaw.

“Huntress, we’re in,” Dom reported over the comms.

The admiral gave him a calculating look. His eyes never left Dom’s. It was as though he thought himself a Hybrid and Dom a Skull and that, if he concentrated hard enough, he could force the Hunters straight back out the hatch they’d come through.

“This war is already over,” the admiral said. “You have lost, Captain Holland.”

It bothered the shit out of Dom that the admiral knew his name but he had no idea who this asshole was. But he did his best not to let it show.

“Did they already launch the nukes?” Dom asked.

Jenna studied their consoles. “I can’t read Farsi.” She pointed at a screen in front of one of the lieutenants nearest the admiral. “Glenn?”

Jenna raised her rifle again, threatening anyone who dared move, as Glenn sidled over to her to look at the screen. “They haven’t fired anything yet,” he reported.

“Good,” Dom said. “Huntress, we’ve got entry. Nothing’s been launched, but the plan remains the same.”

Both Samantha and Chao gave him affirmatives. Dom had the bridge under control. Or at least it looked like he had it under control. An admiral didn’t reach that rank through dumb luck. He got there because he was intelligent—a chess player who saw ahead at least a move or two.

The admiral in command of the FGL’s warship absolutely had to have been prepared for the bridge being taken over. He was too damn calm, and so were most of the officers. And with the Hybrids on the loose...

“You sure they haven’t launched, Glenn?” Dom asked.

“That’s what the display says.”

Dom strode toward the admiral. He jabbed him in the chest with his rifle’s barrel. “What the hell is going on?”

The man laughed. “Such an American thing to say. We are already in hell, Captain Holland.”

“You think that’s funny?” Dom asked. “How funny will you think it is when I’ve got this rifle barrel jammed into your belly?”

“Our intel said you were cold and calculating,” the admiral said. “But you are, to borrow a phrase I believe you are familiar with, a firecracker. Prone to explode.”

Heat rushed Dom’s face. “Did you launch the goddamn nukes?”

“As I said, you have lost, Captain Holland. And your crew knows this. You have failed them.”

“Asshole.” Dom twisted his rifle and slammed the stock of it into the admiral’s stomach.

The man doubled over and gasped for breath, but the smile never left his lips. That only made Dom angrier, and he sent a knee into the man’s jaw. The admiral fell back into the bulkhead, but he didn’t stop laughing. Blood dripped from his split lip, yet the goddamned smile was still there.

“Start talking, you piece of shit,” Dom said.

“Captain Holland,” the admiral said. “You have caused me and my family—my country—more trouble than you could possibly know. And you have no idea who I am?”

“I don’t care.”

“You will remember my name: Amin Mokri,” the admiral said. “For the last few minutes of your life, you will know it. You ruined my weapons programs before we even dreamed of the—what do you call it?—the Oni Agent.” Now the smile faded, and his eyes narrowed, sharp as a tiger’s. “You will get nothing from me or my men.”

Dom couldn’t see how the bastard found any kind of victory in the current situation. They had the guns in the bridge, and they now had control over the ship. One word from Dom’s mouth, and all of them would be dead.

“Mokri,” Dom said, “if you value your life or the lives of your men, shut up and start cooperating.”

“No, I am afraid I will not be cooperating with you... or them.”

Them?

Then Dom heard it. The tap of talons on metal. The Hybrids were outside the bridge. Then the entire ship rocked, throwing Dom sideways. He crashed on his left arm. The other Hunters were thrown against consoles and bulkheads. A few of the bridge officers fell out of their seats, but the admiral and the lieutenant nearest him stayed upright.

The Titan had arrived.

“Daftary!” Mokri said. “Launch!”

The lieutenant executed his commands on the console before Dom could get to his feet. He wheeled around on Daftary and Mokri with his rifle then squeezed the trigger. But they were already running. Bullets pinged against the bulkhead as the duo escaped through another hatch.

“Huntress, the missiles have been launched!” Dom yelled. “I repeat, missiles launched! Warn Frankfurt!”

“Son of a bitch!” Miguel said. He jumped to his feet, kicking an officer near him who was daring to get up. As he bounded over the downed officer, another hatch blew open. Hybrids filled the bridge, their rifles pointed squarely at the Hunters and the remaining bridge officers.

The lead Hybrid lowered his rifle then sauntered forward. He spoke in rough English. “Captain Holland, I heard you were here.” His claws curled around Dom’s rifle. “You will be putting that down, or you will all die.”

The ship shook as the Titan thrashed against it. Dom nearly slipped, but the Hybrids were ready. Dom counted eight of them in the bridge. Others waited outside the hatch. Maybe they had caught Mokri and Daftary on their way out. It hardly mattered now, because the bastards had caught him.

Dom could see the bloodlust simmering in the Hybrid’s eyes as he studied him. He wondered why the Russian monster hadn’t already killed him.

But the lead Hybrid soon answered that question. “Spitkovsky said there would be rewards for anyone who killed you.” The Hybrid’s lips spread into a demonic grin. “But he also said there were greater rewards for bringing you in alive.”

He propped Dom’s chin up with his claws then dragged one of them over his jawline. Dom tried not to wince as the claw tore into his skin. He felt hot blood drip over his shoulder.

“He just didn’t specify how alive you needed to be.”

-36-

Lauren packed another Dewar flask full of samples. Under the racks of plastic vials containing cells and biopsied tissues, liquid nitrogen splashed against the sides. The fog of evaporating nitrogen spilled over the top of the flask until Lauren closed it.

“There’s no way Dom will fail,” Navid said as he toiled beside her. “All this is going to be for nothing.”

“It’s a precaution,” Lauren said. “But I hope you’re right.”

Similar scenes were taking place all around the R&D laboratory. While most of the staff had already left the facility and were being bused to presumed safe zones, the remaining scientists were loading up vital parts of their experiments that they couldn’t afford to lose. Felix Becker had personally come to preside over the evacuation.

Lauren privately agreed with the second half of Navid’s statement. If the nuclear launch succeeded, there would be little hope for the progress that had been made here. Frankfurt would be nothing more than irradiated soil. Lab samples and experimental biological weapons were no good without laboratories to conduct experiments and plants to churn out fresh batches of the Phoenix Compound and whatever other weapons Becker had cooking here.

Becker was marching between the rows of scientists and techs packing up their supplies. He spoke both in German and English to appease all those working in the lab. “Hurry, hurry, hurry! We must depart at once! Even if they destroy this facility, they will not destroy us. They will not destroy our work. We will rebuild. We will fight back!”

“Guy’s a regular military general,” Navid said under his breath. “Most of the labs around the world are filled with Skulls. It’ll be hell cleaning out a new place that’s even half as well equipped as this one.”

“Sure, it’ll be hell.” Lauren screwed on the cap to another Dewar flask. “But we’ve been through hell. What other choice do we have?”

Navid had no answer for that. The young scientist knew better than most people what it was like out there. He probably didn’t relish leaving the safety of the fortified lab and venturing out into the unknown.

There was another problem with Becker’s evacuation plan. If they didn’t get all the samples to a new facility with electricity and a reliable liquid nitrogen generator, all the work they were trying to save right now would go bad in a matter of days.

“They should just ship all of the samples back to the US,” Lauren said. “At least the NIH and Detrick are still standing.”

“Maybe.” Then Navid stood straighter, as if realizing something for the first time. His eyes went distant, focused on something far removed from the German lab. “Do you think they’ll send us, too?”

“To Detrick?”

“Yeah.”

“If we’re going to continue this work, we’ll have to go wherever the samples go,” Lauren said. “But I wouldn’t think about that right now. Focus on the task at hand.”

Lauren wondered why he was so concerned about going back to the US. Was it because of his ill-fated trip there with Shepherd and Divya last time? Or did the nightmares of Boston still haunt him?

Undoubtedly they did, but he didn’t look scared right now. Just... wistful.

Then she understood.

“Don’t worry,” Lauren said. “You’ll see Kara again soon.”

His face turned red, and he suddenly became intensely focused on his work once again.

One by one, they loaded the Dewar flasks into crates on the back of carts. Those carts flew out of the lab and returned empty. Lauren scanned the flasks and crates, trying to make sense of all the cryptic names and numbers on each. Did each represent another attempt at a cure? Or maybe a sample of infected flesh? Or were they biological weapons destined to eradicate the Skulls?

“We’ve got one more bus waiting for all of you,” Becker said. “And a cold beer for each of you.”

Lauren caught herself before she fell into a daydream of a crisp German lager. She hadn’t tasted a good beer in... Good Lord, how long had it been? She knew it was silly, but that promise carried her on despite the exhaustion. Maybe Becker was joking. Maybe there was no beer, no light at the end of the tunnel. But at that moment, she needed hope, no matter how small, that there was a promising future awaiting them. Even if it was just a future at the bottom of a frothy stein.

They toiled for another twenty minutes, working mostly in silence. Becker helped load the last crates then ushered them all to leave the laboratory. He turned the lights off behind them as if that little bit of saved energy mattered in the long run.

No one spoke as they ran down the halls. Their footfalls echoed on the tiled floor and against the now-darkened walls. There were no crowds of technicians moving between laboratories and offices and manufacturing floors. Just this last group—and with them, the knowledge that they had obtained. They carried more than just vials of frozen viruses and pharmaceutical compounds. They carried with them the hope that there was another tomorrow, a brighter future where Skulls didn’t stalk the Earth.

A buzzing sound interrupted their silent march. Becker took out his satellite phone and answered it. He froze in the center of the hall, and his face went white. The phone clattered to the floor.

“Mein Gott,” Becker said. “They’ve launched the missiles.”

***

Dom gasped for breath. The Hybrid tore another claw into his shoulder. Every fiber of Dom’s body told him to scream, to surrender to the agony. Told him that the flap of skin hanging off his shoulder was more than enough reason to give up.

But he would not surrender.

Not to these monsters.

He ground his teeth together, and water sheened over his eyes. The muscles in his jaws locked. But he did not scream. He wouldn’t give the Hybrid the pleasure. Instead, he took a page out of Mokri’s book. He laughed.

“That’s your plan?” Dom asked. “Is torturing me what turns you on, you sick fuck?”

The Hybrid roared and backhanded Dom. Sensing his fury, the Titan crashed against the ship. The Sahand rocked, and the sound of groaning metal reverberated throughout the bridge.

“Europe will be gone soon,” the Hybrid said, snarling. “You will be gone, too. Your country will be gone, and even our Iranian friends will be gone soon, whether they know it or not. It is we who will rule.” He jabbed at Dom’s chest with one of his crooked claws. “There is no room in the world for people like you anymore.”

Dom wondered if there wasn’t something more behind the Hybrid’s words. Did he mean people like him, as in a meddling American—or did he mean people as in humans?

Glenn, Jenna, and Miguel were all staring at Dom from the opposite corner of the bridge. None of them appeared even a little scared despite the rifles pointed in their faces. He felt a twinge of pride in seeing their defiance even as the nukes flew and the Hybrids took over.

He never imagined it would end like this. If he thought back to the oil derrick where he had seen his first Skull, he never in his wildest nightmares could’ve pictured himself at the mercy of one of those creatures with actual human intelligence.

Maybe the admiral was right. Maybe the humans had lost this war. Maybe the efforts in Frankfurt and Fort Detrick and the NIH were too little, too late. Maybe the Oni Agent was destined to pervert the rest of mortal life on this planet until nothing remained but bone-ravaged hunters and their prey. Civilization had been irrevocably brought to its knees by something that was too small to even be seen under a microscope.

Yes, that was the end of humanity. Even as he’d dismantled biological weapons threat after threat, Dom had always thought the end would be brought on by some power-hungry fool with their hands on nuclear weapons. Well, he supposed that was partly true now. Einstein had said that he didn’t know which weapons World War III would be fought with, but World War IV would be fought with sticks and stones. He was wrong. It would be fought with the teeth and claws of the Skulls.

Then as if to emphasize his point, another Hybrid sauntered through the hatch. Another enemy here to ensure his team’s utter defeat.

Wait a second...

Dom’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face.

“You’re wrong, you ugly bastard,” Dom said. “There is no room in the world for things like you.”

***

“Go, go, go!” Meredith roared.

Dom was in the middle of the bridge, blood soaking his torn fatigues. A Hybrid stood over him. His claws dripped with crimson. The other Hunters were forced into a corner under the guard of a group of Hybrids.

It had been hell trying to scuba dive through the churning waters as the Titan pushed its way through the murk toward the ship. But she, Andris, and O’Neil had made good on their promise to get to the Sahand. Even if it had been ludicrous to chase after the Titan to do it.

But right now, as the trio burst into the bridge, she knew she had made the right choice. The Russians froze for a moment at the sight of O’Neil. Every Hybrid they had seen was an ally. They had never faced one like O’Neil. He threw himself at the group surrounding Glenn, Jenna, and Miguel.

Meredith fired on the Hybrids like a machine, sighting one up and then moving onto the next. The blast of the gunfire echoed in the enclosed space, slamming into her ears. Pain coursed through her eardrums at the repeated shots, but she didn’t care. All her fury exploded out of the barrel along with the bullets. These assholes had hurt her family. They had hurt Dom. And if they escaped today, they’d hurt countless more innocents. For that, she would kill every last one of them.

Hybrids and Hunters crashed against each other in a desperate battle for survival. Dom surged upward, bloodied but unbroken, smashing a fist into his captor. Though Glenn, Jenna, and Miguel had been relieved of their rifles, the Hybrids obviously underestimated the Hunters. Miguel unleashed a stream of acid from his prosthetic arm, dousing the nearest Hybrids. They went down, swatting at their dissolving armor and flesh, organs unnaturally exposed to the brilliant glare of the overhead lights. Glenn rushed headlong into another Skull and slammed the bastard against a bulkhead. Jenna ducked low as one of their captors swung his rifle around to fire on her. Bullets ricocheted against the consoles near her. She kicked the Hybrid’s leg, knocking him on his bony ass.

O’Neil was a tornado of claws and teeth. He’d dropped his rifle and moved between the other Hybrids like a velociraptor on a killing spree. She’d never seen him so incensed by fury and hunger, and she wondered if the Hybrids’ pheromone tricks to influence the Titan had affected him.

The Titan seemed to sense something was amiss, too. The ship crashed back and forth as if in the middle of a squall. But despite the violent shaking, the battle in the bridge continued. Meredith bashed a Hybrid in the face with the stock of her rifle. Blood sprayed from his nose. He slashed at her face with his claws. They connected with her cheek, raking lines of fire across her skin.

“Hell no!” Meredith yelled. She’d already lost one ear. She wasn’t a vain woman, but she had to draw the line somewhere.

She battered the Hybrid. Over and over, she slammed her rifle into his face. The bastard devolved into a mass of broken bone and pulpy flesh. As she struck him, she saw Spencer dying, the broken Huntress, Renee and all the other Hunters they’d lost. All the people who she hadn’t known until the Oni Agent had forced her from the office into the field.

“Meredith!” a voice called to her. “He is dead! You can stop now, my friend.”

Meredith wiped flecks of flesh and blood from her face. Her chest heaved. The other Hybrids lay sprawled across the bridge, dead. Andris was standing beside her, and he put a hand on her shoulder.

“We won,” he said. “It’s okay.”

“Thanks, Andris.” Meredith patted his hand once and then turned to look for Dom. He looked like hell, covered in bruises and blood. She ran over and wrapped him in an embrace.

“Hey,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers. “My Valkyrie. Always showing up just when I need you the most to kick some ass.”

They stayed like that for a moment, then Meredith turned her attention to his wound. She pulled supplies from her first aid kit and bandaged the ragged flesh of his shoulder. “Christ, Dom. Do you try to get injured worse every time I see you?”

“I do my best,” Dom said. Then he looked at Andris. “We haven’t won yet. They still launched those nukes. Frankfurt is...”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. No one else in the bridge could, either. They all knew what was at stake. Lauren and Navid were out there. The power stations supplying precious electricity to what remained of Europe were there, as were the facilities producing the Phoenix Compound and the new weapons Lauren had been developing with Mueller Pharmaceuticals. The German city was the last barrier between the FGL’s progress and their advance across the Atlantic toward the United States.

Meredith joined Glenn at one of the consoles. “I don’t read Farsi,” she said, “but I see three dots flying away from this ship. That’s bad, right?”

Glenn nodded, his face pale. “They launched all three nuclear missiles.”

Her chest tightened like a Goliath was squeezing it. “What can we do? Any of these commands detonate the missiles or redirect them?”

Glenn scanned the words, mumbling to himself as he translated. “It’s too late. There’s nothing else we can do here.”

-37-

“Thomas, please tell me the Huntress is in working order again,” Dom’s voice called over the comms.

Thomas stood in the electronics workshop, listening. The blinking and buzzing of the equipment around him faded as he concentrated. He’d already ground his cigar into nothing but flecks of brown tobacco. It felt like a million tiny insects were crawling down the back of his neck and over his spine, but that was just the nervous sweat trickling over his skin.

They had already shut down the air-conditioning systems. Alden had said it was too much of a drain on the backup generators they’d brought online. With all the computer and comm equipment in the cramped chamber, the electronics workshop felt like a sauna. Thomas half wondered when his flesh would start sloughing off from the heat and humidity.

But the last thing he would do was abandon his post.

“We’re doing what we can, when we can,” Thomas said. “Applying any thrust is going to be dangerous right now, but our weapons systems are operational.”

“Good.” Dom’s voice shook. That didn’t make Thomas feel good. The man had faced Titans and Goliaths and Droolers and God-knew-how-many Skulls, but what was unfolding now seemed to scare the captain more than words could express. “What are the chances you can hit them with a surface-to-air missile?”

Chao shook his head. “I’m not a weapons expert, but those missiles are out of range and no SAM we have could even hope to catch them.”

“I was afraid of that. How about—” Dom’s feed fizzled to static for a moment. When it recovered, a gut-trembling roar reverberated through the workshop’s speakers. Then a high-pitched crunch like that of rending metal followed. “Shit, the Titan is going crazy on us. The last of the Hybrids are getting desperate. Thomas, we got to get out of here, but I’m not leaving this ship if there’s anything else we can do to stop those missiles.”

Thomas looked to Chao.

“Once those nukes were launched, communications with the missiles were cut off. The only communications they have with the Sahand is an isolated GPS unit that reports their position back to the ship.” Chao indicated a display that showed a map of the missiles currently in flight. “Other than that, the Sahand can’t talk back. Those things are long gone, Captain.”

“What about Kinsey? Ronaldo?” Dom asked.

The European front of this war would be lost to the FGL when those missiles landed. The scientists at Mueller had no chance of escaping the blast zone. Lauren and Navid would be incinerated.

“US control over antiballistic missile facilities was lost earlier in the outbreak,” Thomas said. “There isn’t anything Kinsey or Ronaldo have to offer. The Bundeswehr did fire six counter-missiles, but this is experimental tech we’re dealing with.”

If the unified German military forces couldn’t knock those missiles out, Thomas wasn’t sure who could.

“Two thousand kilometers and counting until Frankfurt,” Chao said. “All three missiles are spreading now. We’ve got two headed to Germany, and one split off toward northeastern Europe.”

They still weren’t sure what the third missile was targeting. Projections put it somewhere in the Baltic states or Russia. That didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense to Thomas right then, but he was more concerned with stopping them from landing at all.

“We still got Samantha on the case,” Thomas said.

He glanced at the tech. Her headphones were cranked up with the familiar beat of heavy metal music. Her eyes were locked on her computer screen, her fingers poised over her keyboard. A drop of sweat rolled down the bridge of her nose, but she didn’t seem to notice. Thomas wanted to ask her how much longer it would be before she cracked the missile navigation program. But he didn’t dare interrupt her work. Pestering her with questions wasn’t going to help anything. Either it would work, and half the world would be saved—or else there would be a second apocalypse. They would find out soon enough.

“Fifteen hundred kilometers. Counter-missiles impact in five,” Chao said.

Every muscle in Thomas’s body clenched.

“Four.”

The computers in the workshop fell silent. Or maybe that was Thomas’s senses narrowing on a single point, all focused on Chao’s screens.

“Three.”

The dots representing the missiles and counter-missiles were so close now. So goddamn close. All they needed was for one of those counter-missiles to explode and take the nukes with it.

“Two.”

Thomas inhaled. His fingers curled into fists.

“One.”

And then the dots intersected. They were too far to hear any explosions or feel any shockwaves. The most they might catch was a glimpse of light over the horizon about as bright as a falling star. For a brief moment, all of the dots over Germany were still visible: counter-missiles and missiles alike.

Then one of the missiles disappeared along with the corresponding counter-missile. Still Thomas held his breath. That might mean they’d just lost the signal. Maybe there was lag on the communications relay.

A voice from the Bundeswehr broke over Chao’s handset.

“Confirmed detonation. Missile Two over Germany is gone,” Chao said.

“And Missile One?” Thomas asked.

But he already knew the answer. There were no more counter-missiles over Germany. Just Missile One, still carrying its nuclear payload straight to Frankfurt.

A few seconds later, the counter-missile heading to Missile Three hit its target. But neither Thomas nor anyone else was in any mood to celebrate. They hadn’t known where that one was heading or why. And there was no partial credit when dealing with nuclear-tipped missiles. It was either take them all out or welcome annihilation.

“Can the Germans launch more counter-missiles?” Thomas asked. He already knew the answer, but what else was he supposed to do? Sit here in silence and wait until they heard Frankfurt had been wiped off the map?

Chao relayed the request, listened for a moment. He looked at Thomas, hollow resignation in his eyes. “That was all they had.” He turned back to the display.

Shit, Thomas thought. This is it. This really is the beginning of the end.

“Four hundred kilometers.”

“No need to count down, Chao,” Thomas said. The festering anger burning his gut had given way to despair. He knew what was coming, and he let go of the hope that somehow Frankfurt would survive this. Already his mind was on their ship. With Europe thrown back into the Middle Ages, the FGL would roll over the continent. He wondered how soon they would make their advance. If the Huntress was still stuck in the middle of the sea, would they be finished off for good next?

“Captain, you still there?” Thomas asked.

“We’re surviving,” Dom replied. “The Titan is going crazy, but we’re preparing to abandon ship. What’s going on in Europe?”

Thomas watched the map showing the missile making its final descent. Two hundred kilometers away now.

“Just seconds away,” Thomas said. “Counter-missiles brought down the other two, but—”

Was that just his imagination? Missile One seemed to be curving. No, no, it was his mind playing tricks on him. Hope altering his perception of reality. Then the missile veered further, now at damn near a forty-five-degree angle from Frankfurt.

“Chao, is that right?” Thomas asked. “What the hell is going on?”

Before Chao could answer, Samantha threw down her headphones and stood up from her chair. She raised her fists in the air, sweat gleaming on her pale flesh. “It’s done. It’s done! Hallelujah!”

The missile continued on its new path, now headed north. Thomas fished in his pocket for a new cigar. He pulled a matchbook from another pocket. “Hell yes, Samantha!”

Chao let out a hoot of victory then reported the news over the comms to the Hunters. They replied with equal enthusiasm, as did Frankfurt when Chao reached them. A cool tide of relief flooded through Thomas as he struck a match. He brought the flame up to the cigar, breathing in, ready to enjoy this little victory.

Then a sudden sense of guilt washed over him. As much as he wanted that smoke, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t light a stogie until the war against the Oni Agent had been won. This was a victory, but this war wasn’t over. Hell, this battle wasn’t even over. Dom and the others were still out there, stranded on a ship with a Titan.

***

“It actually worked?” Meredith asked, holding onto the gunwale for support. The ship listed hard to port as the Titan bashed at its hull. The beast roared again, forcing Dom to wait a moment to answer.

“The missile’s headed north,” Dom said. “Should explode somewhere over Navaya Zemlya, an old Soviet nuclear test site.”

“Thank all that is holy,” Miguel said. “Those assholes almost had us.”

The ship shook again as the Titan punched at the hole.

“They might still have us,” Dom said. “We’re not done here yet.”

Dom wasn’t sure what the Hybrids were trying to accomplish right now. Maybe they had lost control of the Titan as the civil war aboard the Sahand raged. Gunshots echoed over the deck, and a small explosion rocked the belly of the vessel. They had made it back to the open deck from the bridge, but that didn’t make Dom feel like they were any closer to escaping this doomed vessel. And it wasn’t just his escape he was worried about.

“Where the hell is Mokri?” he asked no one in particular. “Huntress, did you see where Mokri went?”

“Negative,” Thomas replied. “The Karlstad took off when the Titan started battering the Sahand. We’re not sure if Mokri was on it or not, though, and Ronaldo lost it.”

“Damn it,” Dom said. He debated staying aboard to search for the bastard, but the Titan was making that option look worse by the second. The monster had already submerged the starboard side, and water was seeping over deck. The Hybrids and Iranians still fighting in the lower decks were probably sloshing around knee-deep in seawater by now.

Dom glanced at his smartwatch, pulling up the schematics for the warship again. “Looks like we can load up into a lifeboat there.” He pointed sternward. “Best bet is to get as far from the Titan and this ship as we can.”

The Hunters sprinted over the tilting decks. It was like running through a funhouse. Hybrids and Iranians engaged in their own fights spilled out of hatches. The Hunters pushed through the skirmishes, clearing the way in brief gun battles or hand-to-hand combat. Once Dom lost his breath, he never had a chance to catch it. The ship continued rocking, and the Titan continued roaring. The shrieks and wails of the Skulls trapped on the shore, watching hungrily, rang out.

“I can send Frank,” Thomas said as the Hunters approached the lifeboats.

“Bad idea,” Dom said. “It’s too hot here right now. If the Hybrids or Iranians don’t shoot him out of the sky, the Titan is liable to make just as much trouble. We’ll get our asses out of here and find somewhere better for him to pick us up.” Dom looked toward the western horizon as Glenn and Miguel started unlatching an entry into one of the Sahand’s storage decks. They opened the hatch and beckoned to the others. “In the meantime, watch for the Karlstad. If that ship starts heading your way, you have my permission to open fire as soon as it’s in range.”

“You got it, Captain,” Thomas said. “Godspeed and stay safe out there.”

The only illumination in the storage hold was the malevolent glow of crimson battle lights. From the darkness, a pair of Hybrids pounced at Miguel and Dom. The first knocked Dom’s rifle away. More Hybrids jumped at the other Hunters. A few gunshots rang out, deafening in the cramped space. Metal gleamed as knife blades dripped blood. There was a human yell—it sounded like Jenna’s.

Fresh fury erupted in his chest, and Dom grabbed the wrists of the Hybrid trying to maul him. He slammed the Hybrid into the bulkhead, enduring the Russian curses that followed. The Hybrid lashed out, jaw snapping and talons ripping into Dom’s fatigues. Its muscles coursed under the skeletal plates, and Dom could feel their immense strength, each coiled like a viper ready to strike.

Dom bashed the Hybrid into the wall until the plates along its skull cracked. Then he pulled out his knife. The blade found its home in the Hybrid’s open mouth. Dom twisted the handle, drawing more blood, until the Hybrid’s eyes glazed over and it stopped trying to bite.

Dom whipped the knife out and turned back to the gruesome scene. Hunters battled Hybrids amid the chaos of upended crates and steel barrels. The ship quaked again under the renewed attack of the Titan. One of the Hybrids lost his footing and fell. A sliding crate smashed into him and crushed his body against the bulkhead. Bits of broken flesh and blood leaked out from under the crates. Amid the crumpled remains of other Hybrids were those of distinctly human shapes. Dom couldn’t see which of the Hunters were lying there.

Miguel was still fighting in one corner. He sprayed the caustic acid of a Drooler over the front of one Hybrid. In another corner, Andris and Glenn fought side by side, grappling with a pair of Hybrids. O’Neil stood near Jenna. Her shoulder glistened with blood.

Momentary confusion muddled Dom’s mind. He had seen more than one human amid the dead Hybrids, but...

“Meredith!” he yelled.

“Dom!” She was pressed against the deck, flat on her back. A Hybrid bore down on her like a starving wolf in the midst of winter. Saliva roped from its mouth as it yelled at her in Russian.

Dom threw himself at the half man, half monster. His shoulder connected with the Hybrid’s gut. Such a blow would knock the breath out of a normal man but not a Hybrid, whose stomach was protected by thick plates of armor. The Hybrid raked its claws across Dom’s chest. Dom had armor of his own, though his was of the synthetic variety. The impact still hurt, and he retaliated by swinging the stock of his rifle into the Hybrid’s jaw.

The blow knocked the Hybrid away just enough for Dom to unleash a burst of gunfire into the Russian’s chest at point-blank range. His bone plates were no match for Dom’s armor-piercing bullets. When the fighting ceased, Dom felt the warmth of blood soaking into his fatigues. He wasn’t sure if he’d been wounded or if it was from the Hybrids or something else entirely. The rest of the crew looked no better, scrapes and claw marks across their limbs. Jenna’s injuries were the worst of all.

But nothing was immediately life-threatening. Certainly no worse than the way the ship listed again. The cargo was thrown about madly as the Titan beat the Sahand into a watery grave.

“As the Hybrids die, the others are losing control of the Titan,” O’Neil explained.

“We need a goddamn life raft, and we need it now,” Dom said.

With deck space being such a hot commodity on a ship like this, there wasn’t a slew of lifeboats waiting for them. In the US Navy, that limited space was given to rigid-hull inflatables, or inflatable life rafts that fit in smaller fiberglass containers. Dom assumed they’d find the same type of rafts here.

The Titan rammed the Sahand again. Soon enough the ship would be going down under the Titan’s assault.

“Chief, think I found something!” Miguel yelled. He and Andris lugged a casket-sized fiberglass cylinder from a rack.

Glenn’s eyes roved over the container’s label. “That’ll do!”

The Hunters hoisted the heavy container between them, bleeding and hurt as they were. Metal groaned and screeched as the Titan shook the ship. Somewhere over the water, Dom heard screams and cries. And through it all, he still had seen no sign of Mokri. Maybe they had gotten lucky and the admiral and his lieutenant had perished when the Titan attacked. He wished he had some closure. Killing the snake that had been leading this nuclear operation would be a blow to the FGL, and anything that hurt the FGL also hurt Spitkovsky.

A group of Iranians burst out of another hatch. They shouted at Dom and the others. Dom brought his rifle to bear, but before he could shoot, a huge skeletal claw slammed down on the Iranians, instantly smashing two of them. The others scattered, no longer concerned about the Hunters.

“Agh!” Glenn yelled. His feet slipped as the ship’s deck became steeper and steeper. O’Neil and Miguel caught him, tugging him upright before they lost hold of the life raft.

“We’re going over now,” Dom commanded. “Set down the canister.”

The Hunters propped it against the bulkhead and spread out. Dom grabbed the white cord protruding from the canister and secured it around the gunwale.

“Push it over!” he yelled as the ship lurched.

The canister fell over the side, plummeting to the water. As it fell, it released the orange inflatable life raft within. Then another tremor shook the ship. But unlike before, this explosion was followed by a second then a third. Something erupted from the forward deck, tearing away the metal. Fire and smoke poured out.

“Go, go, go!” Dom yelled.

The Hunters threw themselves from the ship, toward the crashing white waters below. A wall of heat slammed Dom from behind as he leapt. His arms pinwheeled in the air until he hit the water.

Miguel leaned over the side of the now-inflated raft and helped O’Neil then Glenn aboard. They, in turn, hoisted in Jenna and Meredith then Dom. Black smoke filled the air. Dom’s lungs burned, and his muscles felt no better. The Titan’s focus remained solely on the Sahand. The shoreline of Dubrovnik was covered in Skulls riled up like an enormous cheering squad straight from hell. There would be no safe place for them to come ashore for Frank’s pickup. They had to go for the open water. They grabbed the flimsy plastic paddles and pushed as fast they could, pulling the raft out to sea, where the tides could sweep them away from this madness.

Eventually the gentle waves of the Adriatic grew higher and more violent. They crashed against the orange raft, and several of the Hunters went overboard. Dom helped Glenn and Miguel back into the raft. Meredith passed them emergency blankets from the raft’s supplies.

“Thomas,” Dom said. “We’re out to sea. Any sign of the Karlstad?”

His eyes flicked from the hell erupting around Dubrovnik to his bedraggled crew. They had somehow made it out of there alive and stopped the nukes. He still couldn’t quite believe it.

“It escaped while Ronaldo’s people were focused on the Sahand.”

Dom cursed. “It can’t have gone far. If Mokri escaped, he’s probably on that goddamn ship. Don’t send Frank until you’re sure the airspace is clear. You’re going to need air cover before he attempts a rescue.”

“On it,” Thomas said.

They floated for a while longer. Soon Dom heard the crack of something against the distant cries of the Titan. It was a familiar sound—the engines of a helicopter.

“Thomas,” Dom said. “I told you to hold on the air rescue. It’s suicide right now.”

“Frank’s still on the ship,” Thomas said.

“Then whose chopper is that?”

“Uh, chief,” Miguel said. “You’re going to want to see this.”

Miguel passed a pair of binoculars to Dom. He pressed them to his eyes, and his stomach sank. An Iranian transport chopper was headed in their direction. And the admiral was on it, manning one of the machine guns out of an open side door. They had no RPGs, no rockets. Only their rifles. That would do nothing to stop the helicopter. Mokri had the advantage in firepower and range. The admiral would rain death on them from above—and judging by the look on Mokri’s face, that was exactly what he intended.

“We really pissed that guy off,” Miguel said.

***

Admiral Mokri stood at the machine gun. He had never wielded a weapon like this as an officer. But now was the perfect time for firsts. At the opposite end of the gun barrel, he sighted up the orange fleck on the horizon. That life raft held the bane of his existence.

Captain Holland, Mokri thought. You will not win. Not again.

“They got all three missiles,” Daftary said from his seat next to the pilot. “The nukes have been stopped.”

Mokri ground his teeth together. The world around him turned red. This must be how the Hybrids felt. He wanted to jab his fingers straight into Holland’s chest and tear the man’s heart out. There would be no greater satisfaction than squeezing that fragile organ until it stopped beating, while Holland spent the last moments of his life writhing in pain. That son of a whore had ruined everything for him—again.

Mokri had been ready to declare war against Spitkovsky, to do something that would finally free his country from the oppression of foreign influences. This had been his chance to stop both the West and the Russian branch of the FGL in one fell swoop. He had been willing to sacrifice everything to make that happen.

And the godforsaken Hunters had interfered again.

This could not be forgiven. He would personally ensure they never reared their ugly heads again. Holland and his Hunters had to die. And Mokri wanted them to know he was the one who took them down.

“Bring me in closer!” Mokri yelled. He gave the trigger a squeeze.

Rounds exploded from the machine gun and sprayed into the water. There was nowhere for Holland to run. The inflatable raft couldn’t protect him. Soon, the Hunters would be nothing but food for the sharks.

Mokri pulled the trigger again. He was almost in range now. The Hunters started firing back, but Mokri felt invincible. Their small-arms fire wouldn’t reach him with any accuracy. They must have known they had lost. They were nothing more than a dying gazelle giving a final, weak kick at the lion disemboweling it.

“There is nothing you can do, Holland,” Mokri hissed.

“We’re in effective range!” the pilot called.

Daftary twisted in his seat, eager to watch the coup de grâce. Mokri gave him a slight nod. The lieutenant had served him faithfully, and he was glad they’d escaped the Sahand together. Soon they would be sailing somewhere far away from here. Away from Spitkovsky and the Hybrids.

He fired. The machine gun kicked in its stand. Mokri laughed as the Hunters reeled backward. They scrambled into the middle of the life raft as if they would miraculously find cover there. The flash of gunfire burst back from the raft. Still the Hunters were trying to stop Mokri. It seemed that was what they’d dedicated their lives to doing. They wanted to stop him no matter the cost. No matter how foolish it seemed.

Today, they would find that had been a fatal mistake. Mokri guided the machine gun’s aim, cutting closer toward the life raft. He enjoyed toying with them. Let them suffer the anxiety of suspense, aware that everything they had worked toward was for nothing.

Let them die knowing that, in the end, it was Admiral Amin Mokri who would be victorious. Today was the beginning of a new era for Mokri. For Iran. For civilization.

“I am sad to say, Captain Holland,” Mokri began, adjusting the machine gun’s aim for the final time, “you will not get to see the dawn of the new world.”

He began to pull the trigger.

“Admiral!” Daftary said.

Mokri turned to curse at the lieutenant. But then he saw it. A blaze of light headed right toward him.

***

“I got your back, Captain,” Thomas said over the comms.

An antiaircraft missile screamed overhead, launched straight from the wounded Huntress.

Dom peered through the binos in time to see the look on Admiral Mokri’s face. The bastard had started this mess, threatened nuclear annihilation, and gotten Spencer killed along with four loyal Huntress crew members. That asshole was going down. And Dom admitted he was glad, even if it was just for a fraction of a second, before the helicopter exploded into a ball of flame and spreading shrapnel.

Lowering the binos, Dom said, “Thanks, Thomas. I owe you a drink when I get back. A strong, expensive drink.”

“About all we got on the Huntress is instant coffee and juice concentrate,” Thomas said. “You got so much as a Coors, you can consider your debt paid.”

“Call it an IOU then,” Dom said. “We’re going to need to get the Huntress repaired. Maybe we’ll take a pit stop in Ireland. After all we did there, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind us spending some time in Dublin.”

Meredith sighed, falling back against the inflated raft. “I have a feeling there will be a lot of people willing to offer us a few drinks and beds after everything we’ve just been through.”

“Even me?” O’Neil asked, grinning devilishly, the spikes on his limbs bristling.

“Hey, I mean, Glenn’s got himself a girl, and look at his mug,” Miguel said. “If he can do it, so can you.”

The crew settled in for the ride and shared the MREs from the raft’s emergency supplies. Thomas kept them updated until Ronaldo’s people reported they had found the Karlstad. It was far enough north that it would no longer pose a threat to an air rescue. And trapped in the Adriatic like that, with nothing but a skeleton crew to keep it afloat, it would be easy enough for the consolidated EU forces to launch a boarding mission and reclaim the ship.

The beat of chopper blades cut through the idle chatter of the Hunters as they tended to their wounds. A prickle of fear traced down Dom’s neck until he found the chopper in his sights. There it was, a familiar Seahawk bearing down on them.

“Howdy,” Frank’s voice came over the comms. “Heard y’all were looking for a ride.”

The Seahawk closed in, and a rope ladder was flung out to the raft. Miguel helped Jenna up first, followed by Glenn. Dom ushered O’Neil up next.

“You’re going to need to see a doctor,” Glenn said, surveying Jenna’s wounds.

She grinned devilishly back at him. “And I’m sure you cannot wait to see a certain doctor.”

It was hard for Dom to tell, but Glenn looked a little red.

“I wish she wasn’t still in Germany,” he said. “I owe Samantha big-time.”

“As do we all,” Dom said, sighing and leaning against the rubber gunwale.

“You know, somewhere along the way, you promised me a cruise,” Meredith said.

“Did I?” Dom asked. “I thought it was a vacation on a beach.”

“Either way, I want to be clear that this doesn’t count. Promise me our vacation won’t involve life rafts and Titans.”

He leaned in for a quick press of his lips against hers. “Promise.”

Meredith climbed up, and Dom followed. The ladder swung around under the rotor wash of the Seahawk, and the salty spray of the sea air brushed across his skin. The scent of the burning Sahand still clung to his nostrils, and he thought he could make out the Titan’s voice as it battered what remained. But all of that seemed so far away now. At that moment, Dom and the Hunters existed in their own special purgatory. Only they weren’t suspended in some ethereal realm between Heaven and Hell. They were stuck between the hell created by the FGL in Dubrovnik and the hell he’d face aboard his nearly ruined ship.

They were alive, and for that he was thankful, but he couldn’t forget the others that had sacrificed themselves to make this small victory possible. The Hunters and his crew had paid an enormous price and accomplished some equally enormous tasks. But if anything, this mission—just like the ones in the Congo and Morocco—had showed him the stubborn defiance that existed in many pockets of the world. People from Dublin and the Congo to Portugal and Germany weren’t willing to give this world over to the FGL. Neither were the Hunters.

Meredith’s fingers found his. She squeezed and offered a reassuring smile.

Those people wouldn’t give up. And neither would he. Like him, they all knew that amid the carnage of the Skulls and the atrocities committed by the FGL, there were still things worth fighting for.

-Epilogue-

Son of a bitch, those lights are bright.

Midshipman Rachel Kaufman blinked until her eyes adjusted. Her throat itched, and she coughed. Her ribs vibrated like her lungs were trying to escape. Across her chest and arms, a thousand needles seemed to be prodding her.

Goddamn, everything hurts.

She tried to sit up straight, but the thick bandages covering her flesh made the movement difficult. Her muscles quivered when she swiveled her head. She could barely accomplish that small task. The faint whir and low murmur of voices filtered around her. White curtains were pulled back near her bed. Only a few seconds passed before she realized she was lying in a patient bed in a hospital or clinic somewhere. The movements of nurses and patients all around her came in a white blur.

Her memories hit her with a nearly palpable force. In her mind, the concussive blast outside Kent erupted again. That ghost ship hitting shore, the suspense of waiting for the Skulls that never came. The explosion.

“Rory.” The name scratched up her throat.

What had become of him?

Her heart slapped against her ribcage, and the mild panic made her dizzy. Good Lord, she really had been out for a while if this was what knocked her on her ass nowadays.

“Rachel!” a comfortingly familiar voice answered.

She heard the squeak of rubber on tile and cranked her head further, painful as the motion was, to look over her right shoulder. Past the tubes dangling off IV bags and the chirping equipment, she saw a beaming midshipman in a wheelchair wheeling himself right over to her.

“You going to stay awake this time?” Rory asked when he reached her. He placed a hand gently over hers.

“You trying to make a move on me?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

Rory pulled his hand back. His face turned a brilliant red. “No, I—it’s just—I was so worried—”

“I’m just giving you shit,” Rachel said. Something caught in her throat, and she coughed until it released. “God, I feel like hell.”

“You look—”

“Don’t you say it.” She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare say it, Booker.”

“I wasn’t going to say you looked like hell,” Rory said. “I was going to say you looked pretty good for surviving an exploding ship.”

“Bullshit.”

Rory laughed. “Yeah, you’re right. You do look like hell, Kaufman.”

She started to laugh, but that quickly devolved into painful coughs. Rory placed his hand back over hers, and this time she said nothing. When she finally settled, he started to speak again.

“We’ve been through hell and back together,” he said. “And I thought finally this time you weren’t coming back with me. You’re my best friend, and I couldn’t imagine going through this crazy world without you. Don’t do that to me again, okay?”

Rachel wanted to tell him to stop with the sappy dribble. But she couldn’t. Damn it if he wasn’t right. They’d survived so many near-death experiences together since that very first day finding shelter at the Naval Academy.

“You look a little beat up yourself,” Rachel said, trying to force a grin over her dry lips. “Is this going to make you give up kicking Skull ass?”

Rory shook his head. “Skulls? We got to set our sights a little higher. I talked with the Hunters a few days ago. They just stopped a nuclear apocalypse.”

Rachel’s eyes widened involuntarily. “Wait, what the hell? We got a Skull apocalypse and someone is bringing nukes into the game?”

“Yeah, either the FGL is getting more desperate, or whatever they’ve got planned for the world hasn’t even really started.”

“And we’re stuck in this damn hospital.” Then a moment of realization dawned over her. “Oh, shit, what about Kent?”

“Kent is okay,” Rory said. “The bridge we were defending isn’t. But Kinsey reinforced the whole island. It’s doing all right without us.”

“How long we got in here?” Rachel asked.

Rory lifted his bandaged ankle. “I’ve got a couple more weeks before I can really use this again. I overheard the nurses and docs say your burns are going to take some more time to heal. They want to make sure you don’t get any infections, but at least you didn’t have any breaks or fractures like me.”

Rachel lifted her bandaged arms. “So that’s what all this is about. We talking third-degree burns?”

Rory winced. “It wasn’t pretty.”

For a moment Rachel was silent. She imagined the patches of shining scars and stretched skin covering her torso and limbs now. Probably a good thing she’d been out of it for so long.

“The docs do know we aren’t sitting in this hospital forever, right?” Rachel finally asked.

“They don’t, but I’m sure you’ll tell them.”

“I will.” She thought for a second about what was next for them. Certainly, they could go back to guard duty at Kent. But with nukes flying around and after surviving that blast, she wanted something more. She had joined the Navy to see and protect the world, and by God, that’s what she’d been trained to do. “You think they’ll send us back to Kent?”

“Of course they will.” But Rory was grinning.

God, he looked so smug, sitting there with that look on his face.

“What are you hiding from me?” she asked.

“The Hunters aren’t the only people that reached out to us,” Rory said. “Shepherd did, too. The Hunters are off sailing around the world chasing the FGL, so we don’t exactly have a crack team of Skull killers in the US anymore. Shepherd’s looking to assemble a group with experience dealing with Skulls in the field.”

Now Rachel wanted to peel the damn bandages off her skin and jump the hell out of there. It was high time for her to get revenge for what had happened to her and Rory and Kent and the rest of the United States. “You told him we’re in, right?”

From the look on Rory’s face, she knew that he had.

“When do we start?” she asked.

“Shepherd told me—I’m paraphrasing here—that as soon as you get your ass up and can walk on your own, we can talk.”

“Then call the nurse,” Rachel said, “because I’m about to go for a goddamn run.”

***

Lauren had saved people from the brink of death. She’d burned long hours into the night and watched dawn break. Sometimes her experiments failed spectacularly. Other times they succeeded past her wildest dreams. She thought she’d known stress before. But right now, she felt like a beaker boiling on a hot plate. Everything a human being could feel, she had felt.

She and Navid were loading their experimental samples back into the liquid nitrogen tanks and walk-in freezers where they belonged. They wouldn’t worry anymore about whether the samples would thaw, ruining their research efforts. At least for now.

“I can’t believe they did it,” Navid said. “They stopped freaking nuclear missiles.” He laughed out of pure astonishment, brushing his hair back.

Lauren smiled. “I can believe it. When you’ve seen Dom and the others in action, you start believing that they’re miracle workers.”

“Miracles?” Navid asked, inserting a fresh rack of samples in the liquid nitrogen tank. “I thought you were a scientist.”

“I’m not sure what I am anymore. Scientist, doctor.” She waved at the research lab. “Bioengineer... bioweapons designer.”

For a while they continued unloading their samples. Already some of the researchers were turning their equipment back on and restarting their experiments. The celebration had been surprisingly short. Duty called.

Lauren’s mind wandered to the future. She couldn’t wait to see Glenn again. Time spent with him came only in short bursts—those rare, precious moments when he wasn’t out on some death-defying mission and she didn’t have an experiment or patient requiring her attention in the med bay. Felix Becker had been hospitable enough, and Lauren had enjoyed the chance to stretch her land legs by working in a laboratory bigger than an entire deck on the Huntress. Still, she longed to be back with not only Glenn, but also Peter, Divya, and Sean. She hadn’t realized how much the ocean had been calling her until she’d spent this time in Germany.

The door to the lab opened, interrupting Lauren’s reverie. Felix Becker spotted her and made a dramatic “ah” expression, then marched straight toward her. His portrayal of a confident, poised leader had been restored.

“Lauren, Navid,” Becker said. “I would like a word with you.”

Navid paused, closing the lid to the nitrogen tank.

“We just got everything unloaded,” Lauren said, “and we still haven’t stored it all.”

“That’s okay,” Becker said. “Someone else will take care of that for you.” He waved over one of the lab assistants and spoke to him in German. The lab assistant immediately began sorting Lauren and Navid’s samples. “You are now free from your responsibilities in the lab. Please, follow me.”

Becker turned and began walking away before Lauren and Navid could say anything else. They followed him through the corridors of the facility. The place was already alive with activity, as if there had been no nuclear scare. Soon they reached Becker’s office. The space was organized and minimalist. There was none of the leather and rich wooden bookshelves that Lauren had envisioned in the man’s executive suite. Instead, it was more metal and glass than anything else. He beckoned them to join Emma Fischer at the conference table.

“We have something very important to discuss,” Becker said.

“I’m all ears,” Lauren said.

“You are all ears?” Becker looked nonplussed for a moment. “Ah, this is an American phrase. You are listening.”

Lauren nodded. “That’s right.”

“Very good,” Becker said. “Both of you have demonstrated wonderful laboratory acumen with your work on the pheromone project. But that project was interrupted by our sudden and momentary departure from the laboratory. My hope is that you will stick around until the project’s completion.”

In Lauren’s mind’s eye, she saw her bunk on the ship. She tried to ignore that inviting image. “Yes, of course we’ll help. But more importantly, how is the Phoenix Compound production going?”

“We are now well into our third batch,” Fischer said. “I have every reason to believe it will be as successful as the first.”

“Good to hear,” Lauren said. “In that case, it sounds like you won’t need us much longer than a few weeks.”

“Are you so eager to leave?” Becker asked.

Navid folded his arms across his chest, leaning back in his seat. “We’re pretty well done with the pheromone behavior modification project. After a few more tests to verify it works, you are going to take responsibility for turning it into a weapon, right?”

“Yes, as we promised,” Becker said. “But there is another small favor I have to ask you. Dr. Fischer?”

Fischer steepled her fingers together. “As you are well aware, our expertise is in pharmaceutical manufacturing, research, and drug delivery. These skills help us design new and effective strategies for eliminating Skulls. And we do have close relationships with the Bundeswehr. which has been instrumental in offering advice for, shall we say, mass application of our pharmaceuticals over wide areas.”

“More euphemisms,” Lauren said. “You want to make bioweapons.”

“Yes,” Becker said. “But we have encountered a critical shortage.”

“And that is?” Navid asked.

Becker waved his hand to indicate Fischer and himself. “We have no bioweapons expertise.”

“Of course not,” Lauren said. “I would be surprised if you did.” She was afraid of where this conversation was going. She had a dark suspicion of what Becker and Fischer were about to ask her.

“After World War II, while many other countries flirted with biological weapons, Germany took a decidedly different approach to weapons research,” Becker explained.

Navid snorted. “I can imagine there were a few diplomatic reasons to do so.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Becker said. “And that was all very good for our progress. But it also means that we do not have any experts to develop biological weapons.”

“Welcome to the club,” Lauren said. “Most countries run by those with a conscience don’t.”

Fischer leaned across the table, smudging fingerprints on the glass surface. “While this is also true, there are few individuals we know that have hands-on experience with biological and chemical weapons. You two are, as far as we are concerned, leading experts in the field. We need your help.”

“We never made biological weapons,” Lauren argued. “Would you consider the guy who defuses bombs an expert at making one?”

Becker scratched at his chin. “If I didn’t have access to anyone who made bombs, he would be the first person I would ask for advice about them.”

“But—”

The German scientist continued over her protest. “We want to develop weapons in cooperation with our European and American allies. We are tired of playing defense against the Oni Agent and the Skulls. We need to eliminate them before they eliminate us. And to do this, we need discriminating weapons of mass destruction that target only Skulls. Surely you can support this work, Dr. Winters and Dr. Ghasemi.”

Fischer took over the sales pitch. “We are asking you to stay on our team for the foreseeable future. We need your help to stop the Skull menace. Will you join us?”

Becker and Fischer looked intently between Lauren and Navid.

All thoughts of Glenn and the Huntress suddenly seemed like nothing more than dreams again. Lauren wanted to join her team, back where she felt most comfortable. Back where she was needed to keep the Hunters healthy and safe, back where the labs called her.

But here, she and Navid had the potential to change the course of this war. The answer seemed obvious at first. She should stay. She should volunteer to toil away in the lab until they’d eradicated every goddamn Skull left in the world. Still, something ugly sat at the back of her mind. She had seen the dark side of biological weapons. The pain they caused, both intentional and unintentional. Even the most effective and lifesaving of medicines had unintended and potentially devastating side effects. A bioweapon that somehow could eradicate wide swathes of the Skull population? It sounded far too good to be true.

Biology was a fickle and unpredictable mistress.

“So then,” Becker said, “what will it be?”

***

Five assets lost. Mission accomplished.

That would’ve been Meredith’s report to Langley, had she still been pushing papers at the CIA headquarters. The nature of her relationship with the Hunters, as well as the CIA’s directives to eliminate biological and chemical weapon threats as discreetly as possible, dictated that brevity was preferable to detail. Back then, that’s all she would’ve really known about the Hunters’ success.

She had never pressed for details. For plausible deniability’s sake, it was better that way.

She sighed. A light misting of sea air caressed her face, and the scarred flesh where her ear had once been tingled.

Five assets lost.

Those words said so little. But now that she had spent time on the Huntress and even spilled her own blood with the crew, they rang dark and haunting. They echoed in her mind like a church bell in an abandoned town, a melancholy sound amid desolate ruin. Those words meant five funerals. Five fewer people to fight for the side of good, which seemed to be an ever-dwindling resource. Five human beings who had given everything to protect a world that would never know about their sacrifice.

She had lost five friends—five family members.

Meredith’s fingers tightened around the cold, wet metal gunwale. The hollow sound of hammer strikes and the whine of heavy-duty drill bits biting into steel rose behind her. The ship was damaged, wounded. It would never be the same after this mission.

Likewise, the crew wouldn’t be the same. They’d lost so many people during this war. And still they fought on.

Meredith inhaled deeply, relishing the fresh air. Out here, deep in the Adriatic, she no longer smelled the carrion odor that wafted from the Skulls. Out here they had a chance to rebuild and remember.

A quick glance at her watch told Meredith it was time to go below. Although they’d be leaving five people behind, there were dozens more who needed her—perhaps especially the one waiting for her now. Despite her aching muscles, she strode down the ladder and into the training gym.

She said nothing when she approached her opponent. Younger and sprier, her sparring partner held all the physical advantages. But Meredith still had greater knowledge and experience.

Kara lunged in early for a takedown. Meredith rewarded her overeagerness with a swift counter that landed the young woman on her back. No sooner had Kara’s spine hit the mat than she was back up and going straight at Meredith again. Over and over they clashed. Kara made slight adjustments at each attempted takedown, which Meredith noticed and adjusted for in kind.

But Kara was a fast learner, and she did not give up. Meredith expected no less from Dom’s oldest daughter.

Then it finally happened. Kara went low for a lunge, and Meredith grabbed the young woman’s shoulder to counter. But Kara twisted at the last second. Using Meredith’s momentum against her, Kara swept Meredith off her feet and sent her to the mat.

The shock of the impact sent a fiery wave of pain through Meredith’s back. Still she couldn’t help smiling as Kara offered her a hand to help her up.

“About time,” Meredith said.

“Even a blind pig finds an apple every once in a while.” Kara brushed the sweat off her forehead. “Persistence pays off.”

“It does,” Meredith said. Kara gestured as if to invite her to another round, but Meredith waved her off and sat on a bench. She dabbed her forehead with a towel. “You’re no blind pig, Kara. You’re better than that. You’ve been practicing.”

Kara sat beside her and chugged from a water bottle. “I tried teaching Sadie some of what you showed me while you all were away. She’s been less than enthusiastic. Maggie always tags along, and whenever she sees us sparring, she gets worried we’re actually fighting.”

“Good thing she wasn’t in here today to see you take that beating.”

Kara grinned. “No kidding. She would’ve freaked.”

Meredith held her hand out, and Kara passed her the water bottle. “I heard what you did for Alden.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. That was pretty damn brave.”

“Someone had to help,” Kara said.

“But you were the one that did. In the middle of a fire, no less. You should’ve seen your father’s face when he found out. He couldn’t decide whether he was supposed to be pissed that the crew let you throw yourself in there like that or be proud that you did it.”

Kara laughed. “I can only imagine.”

“And I hear you’re going to become an engineer now?”

“Alden says I’ve got a few years of study ahead of me if I want to do it. It’s going to be hard, but I’ll try. I need to do something to help out around here.”

“Nothing worthwhile is easy.”

Meredith wondered what the future held for Kara and the rest of the ship. Maybe Kara would have more than enough time aboard the Huntress to learn all Alden had to teach her. For the young woman’s sake, she hoped not. She wanted Kara to be able to return to the mainland, to have a chance at living something like a normal life.

“You’d make a fine engineer,” Meredith said. “At the CIA, we recruited the best, and from experience, those were the most tenacious of the lot. The ones that weren’t afraid to get their hands dirty to root out a problem. When faced with a challenge, they ran at it headlong.” She winked at Kara. “After the proper training of course.”

“Alden’s letting me borrow some of his books on ship maintenance, plus some basic engineering texts. I didn’t spend much time in college, but at least some of my science courses are proving useful now.”

“You know what, kid? You’re going to be okay.” Meredith glanced at her watch. It was about time to rejoin the others in the electronics workshop. She patted Kara’s back. “Seriously, what you did for Alden was a great thing.”

“You would’ve done the same.”

“I’m proud of you, Kara. You are, as Frank would say, a regular badass.”

Kara smiled at Meredith. “If I am, it’s only because I’ve got a great role model.”

***

Dom sat at the table in the middle of the electronics workshop. In front of him was an open can of the vile green engine coolant that Samantha called an energy drink. Meredith, Thomas, Chao, and Samantha held their own sweating cans as they sat around him. Miguel, O’Neil, Glenn, and Jenna had joined them.

“I’m not great with words, so I’m going to do the best I can.” Dom cleared his throat. “Samantha, there aren’t many people I know that can claim to have saved millions of lives. I’m not sure anyone will fully appreciate what you did. Whatever happens after we burn the Oni Agent off this planet, I will never forget it, and I will be forever grateful.”

“Just doing my job,” Samantha said. The normally cocky tech actually looked embarrassed at being singled out, even with the small group. “Besides, it’s not like I was risking my ass in the field. All I did was implement a bit of code on some devices.”

“A bit of code on some devices?” Dom asked. “Don’t sell yourself short. A lifetime of training and study—not to mention whatever the hell is in these drinks—got you to where you are today. There are a whole lot of people in Europe that are glad you chose to go nearsighted from working at computers all day.” He raised his can. “To Samantha, a tech prodigy and a damn hero. I am so thankful you are on our side.”

“Hear, hear,” Thomas said gruffly, raising his can to meet Dom’s. The others clinked their drinks before taking a sip.

Dom winced but choked the stuff down. He held out the can. “Samantha, I’ll let you finish the rest.”

“Good,” she said. “As much as I appreciate you all sharing in my guilty pleasure, I don’t want this stuff going to waste.”

“Chao,” Dom said, “thank you for designing those transmitters. Sometimes I think we take your genius for granted, but those little devices saved us here in Croatia, along with the Congo and Morocco... and well before the outbreak, too.”

“My pleasure,” Chao said with a nod.

“And to you, old fogey,” Dom said, turning toward Thomas. “Your timing is, as ever, impeccable.”

“I always say,” Thomas said, “if you won’t let me get a bite of the action in the field, I’ll make a little action aboard the ship.”

“Oh, you always say that?” Meredith asked with a sly grin.

“Always since now.” Thomas rolled his cigar between his fingers.

Dom laughed then pointed to the cigar. “You going to light that one?”

“You know, I almost did.” Thomas pocketed it again. “But I made a vow to myself that I wouldn’t smoke another one until the Oni Agent was gone and we caught the bastards responsible for it. And I’m a man of my word.”

“You’re going to be without nicotine for a while,” Samantha said. “Unless we find something really juicy from the data Mokri left behind.”

Dom wished he could disagree with Samantha. But there was no mistaking how far they had to go before they or any government left in this world could declare anything close to a victory against the Oni Agent and Spitkovsky.

Taking back the Karlstad had been easy with the German, Irish, and Portuguese lending their support. The few Iranians aboard gave up readily, seeing that they were absolutely outnumbered and having already lost their admiral. They weren’t like the Hybrids, who had to be hunted down until the very last one of them was riddled with bullets. Based off the unencrypted communication logs they’d pulled off the Karlstad, Mokri had been an important figure in the FGL. Dom hoped Spitkovsky would be feeling that loss.

The FGL’s radical plan to take out Europe had been stopped. At least for now. The attack on Washington, DC, had never materialized. They weren’t sure whether the planned invasion had been a feint all along or if the failure of the nuclear operation had thwarted the FGL’s plans. Either way, Spitkovsky knew Dom and the rest of the world were onto him now. He’d successfully thrown them off his trail, even if for only a little while.

Spitkovsky’s ghost fleet was still out there, even if it hadn’t made it to DC. There were still hordes of Skulls and the threat of new versions of the Oni Agent as the FGL looked for new ways to undermine the survival of the human civilization.

“Samantha’s right,” Dom said. “This war isn’t over. Not even close to it. But I can tell you what will happen. I don’t know when, and I don’t yet know how, but I do know the outcome. We will win.”

Dom was absolutely certain they would. If they could stop a nuclear war, then they could stop Spitkovsky. They would stop Spitkovsky.

“No doubt about it,” Meredith said. “I’m behind you one hundred percent.”

“Count me in,” O’Neil said. “Nothing would make me happier than showing these bastards what they created.” He tapped his claws against each other.

“Chief, I never doubted you,” Miguel said.

“Damn straight, brother,” Glenn said.

Dom soaked in the confidence of his crew. After everything they’d been through, after losing Spencer and seeing his crew damn near fall apart, he took reassurance in their resolve. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, and he knew they would each face their own demons and doubts on the path to victory, but they would be victorious in the end.

There was still a lot of work to be done. The ship had a goddamn hole in it—and so did Dom. After paying his respects to the fallen crew members, an invisible weight had been added to the burden he’d been carrying since the beginning of the battle against the Oni Agent.

That was why victory was the only option. Only by seeing Spitkovsky and his work destroyed would the sacrifices of the Hunters be worth the cost.

A chirp sounded from Samantha’s computer. She jolted upright in her seat, almost spilling her energy drink. “The decryption program’s done!”

Dom took a deep breath. It was time. “Then let’s see where we’re going next.”

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The end of Book 7 in The Tide Series

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Thank you for reading The Tide: Ghost Fleet! I’m thankful for every one of you that have followed along the Hunters’ adventures so far. You’ve made this series well worth writing, and the emails and messages I’ve received from readers truly help me to keep motivated while writing the next book. The series continues in Book 8: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HFP76WG.

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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.