Eli watched the oncoming soldiers in amazement.
“There’s so many,” he said.
Ian slapped his shoulder. “Focus. With me.”
The gushing noise rose again. Ian headed toward it, Eli following alongside him.
There were men everywhere. The floodlights had been turned on at the perimeter, illuminating the battlefield. NDR soldiers shot at the swarm of invaders. There was too much ground to cover, and the enemy soldiers had already reached the fence stretching from one hill to the opposite.
Ian could already see it happening. Once past the fence, the invaders would have access to the streets winding through the abandoned houses at the edge of town. Guerrilla warfare would ensue, the guard towers useless as small units of Republic soldiers fought from the streets and alleys, torching homes as they swept through the tiny town.
“We have to take down those flamethrowers,” Ian said. “That’s all that matters right now.”
“Do you see any?” Eli asked, taking potshots at the men coming up the field.
“There!”
Ian pointed at a guard tower. Flames had begun to creep up one side. He and Eli rushed toward it, ducking as Republic soldiers shot at them from the distance. Hopefully, the glare from the floodlights was shining into the invaders’ eyes, throwing off their aim.
A group had reached the fence. Ian peppered them with bullets, taking two down and forcing the others to run elsewhere.
When the coast was clear, he tossed his rifle over the fence, then began to climb over. He could hear Eli grunting at the effort of raising himself up.
“Go,” Eli shouted. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
Ian landed on the other side before scooping up his rifle. Without checking to see Eli’s progress, he sprinted toward the guard tower, taking cover at small wooden barriers set up at intervals in front of the fence. Part of him wanted to wait behind cover for Eli to catch up, but then he noticed the two men in the burning guard tower still shooting at the enemy from up top. They hadn’t noticed the flames.
“Get down,” Ian screamed. “You’re on fire!”
One turned toward him. Ian waved him down.
“You’re on fire! Get out of there!”
He couldn’t be sure his message had gotten across. There was little else he could do. Where was that flamer? Had he gone for the next tower?
Ian sprinted toward the next one up the line.
A dark figure rose from the other side of a barrier he passed along the way.
Ian froze.
“It’s you,” the man said.
Turning on him, Ian sprayed a half-dozen shots at the man, only to hit the barrier and the empty space beyond it. He heard the slugs thunk into the thick wooden beams.
The figure rose again. Ian caught a glimpse of his face in the weak glow of a nearby flaming tower.
It was the Type II telepath he’d shot in Praetoria.
“How did you find us?” Ian asked, his curiosity overcoming all reason. He should have just shot him.
But someone had led the man to Gulch. How else could he have known?
Someone on the inside was responsible for this.
“Charlotte says hi.” The telepath grinned malevolently. “Now, it’s my turn.”
Trapped in the flamer’s path, Ian could already feel its searing heat. Ian raised his rifle. He could leap out of the way and hope to avoid the flames, or he could take aim and shoot the man, ending his life once and for all. He only wished he could shoot her first.
Catching sight of the spark signaling an oncoming burst, Ian aimed along the sights.
He squeezed the trigger.
The AR-15 went off, shooting harmlessly into the sky above the telepath’s head. His aim had been deflected by a sudden force slamming into him like a speeding truck, flinging him several feet to his left.
Scrambling to get back up, Ian had to shield his face from a sudden wash of intense light and heat. As he staggered backward, he saw a powerful jet of fire consume someone standing in the spot Ian had occupied a moment ago.
“No!”
He watched as Eli raised his arms to shield himself. It was no use. The flames wrapped themselves around his upper body, making him spin and bend as if he were dancing to get away. The smell of gas and burning flesh choked Ian. Smoke began to billow off Eli’s body. Ian struggled to act—to do something—to help his friend, but all he could do was try to scream for Eli to get out of the way and for his attacker to stop. Please, just stop.
By the time the flames were cut off, Ian had already raised his rifle and was pumping round after round at the telepath. The NDR soldiers from the guard tower had joined him, safely on the ground and shooting at the man with the flamethrower. The intense light from the burst of flames had half-blinded Ian, making it impossible to tell if their shots had landed successfully.
Where was he?
Gone. He ran to the barrier, ready to shoot the telepath crouched behind it. But the man had disappeared.
Scanning the field, Ian saw no sign of him. The invaders had broken through the fence. He checked the area behind him, but the telepath had either jumped the fence or found some other means of escape.
Eli…
Ian rushed to his friend’s side. Eli was a charred, smoking lump on the ground. Yet, he still lived.
“Breathe,” Ian pleaded, taking a knee beside him, his body racked with sobs. “Just breathe.”
“Can’t,” Eli said.
His body shook as he tried to pull in air, but all he could manage was a wheezing sound that became a violent, gasping cough. His face was a blackened, oily mask, the whites of one eye visible as he blinked at Ian. The smoke and the burning meat stench were overpowering.
“Shoot…me…”
Sudden terror gripped Ian’s body, forcing him to his feet. He wildly shook his head.
“No. I can’t…”
Eli lifted a shivering arm toward Ian, as if asking for help getting to his feet. But he wasn’t asking for help at all.
His smoking left hand bent into the shape of a gun.
He was asking for an end to the pain, and all Ian could do was blubber like an idiot.
“I’m sorry,” Ian said.
He staggered to where he’d dropped the rifle. Picking it up, he wiped tears from his eyes. Then he aimed at Eli’s blackened forehead and shot him twice, ending his friend’s pain and taking it into his own heart, where it bubbled and coursed through his veins like liquid fire.
Eli’s dead, he sent. Flamer is in town—the Type II that I thought I killed in Praetoria. Be on your guard. Take him down.
Where are you going? Peter responded.
To make things even.
Ejecting the magazine, Ian reached into his pocket and grabbed a fresh one, then popped it into the rifle. He ran back to Blake’s truck, Charlotte’s name repeating in his mind.
It had been her all along.
26
Dominic found Reggie at the base of one of the burning guard towers. He must have jumped to avoid the flames. One of his legs was broken, a shard of bone poking against his pant leg right above the ankle.
He rushed over.
“Dom,” Reggie said, breathless from the pain.
Dominic listened to his surroundings. The tower groaned above the crackling flames.
“I’ve got you.”
Within moments of him pulling Reggie to safety, the tower collapsed. Gushing smoke burned Dominic’s eyes. Ignoring the sting, he lifted Reggie over one shoulder and carried him toward a section of the fence that had been torn down. The nearest house would protect him until the battle was over. It had to.
“Leave me,” Reggie said.
“Not a chance.”
Dominic kicked open a back door, then entered the darkened hallway. Gently, he lay Reggie on his back. Then he searched the man’s pockets, found a small flashlight, and inspected the damage.
“They shot me.” Reggie groaned. “I’m done.”
Domi
nic grit his teeth, passing the light over Reggie’s body. He found the shiny patch of blood on his shirt down by his belt.
A belly wound.
“Goddamn it,” Dominic said. “I’ll get you to Midas.”
“No! It’s over. Leave me.”
Tearing open the man’s shirt, Dominic knew at once Reggie had zero chance of surviving the next hour. Even with medical attention—and who knew whether Midas was even still alive—his outlook was grim. The bullet hole was the size of a silver dollar.
“They need you,” Reggie said, his face pale beneath smudges of ash. “Go.”
Dominic collapsed against the wall. He slid down until he was sitting with one hand on Reggie’s outstretched arm.
“It shouldn’t have happened this way,” Dominic said. He shook his head violently, as if this were a nightmare from which he could break free by shaking himself. His entire body trembled.
“I’m glad…you came back to Gulch,” Reggie said.
He was fading. Dominic knelt beside him, studying his face.
“I am, too. All this time, and I never said it. I never told you… And—and to think I almost never got the chance… I…”
“Me, too,” Reggie said. “Always have.”
Dominic craned his neck, lowering to kiss Reggie’s lips. He tasted blood. When he rose once more, he saw a peaceful expression had slackened Reggie’s features.
He was gone.
Dominic whispered the words into Reggie’s ear—the phrase he’d always wanted to say to the man who had been his friend and lover. Those words had always terrified Dominic, but not saying them while Reggie had been alive would be his life’s greatest regret.
When he was finished, he clicked off the flashlight. He slipped it into his pocket, then grabbed the AR-15 and got to his feet.
The message arrived a moment later.
Eli’s dead…
Ian.
He sounded unlike himself, the tone of the message cold and soulless instead of vengeful and angry. With the news of Eli’s death opening a fresh wound, Dominic stumbled to the door, trying to steady himself.
Flamer is in town—the Type II that I thought I killed in Praetoria. Be on your guard. Take him down.
On it, Dominic responded, entering the darkened street to begin the hunt.
27
It was dark inside the living room, only a hint of the moon’s light streaming through the windows. William kept expecting a body to crash through the glass, bringing with it the terrifying gunfire that kept erupting at the other end of town.
“Why are they here?” he asked.
His mother shushed him. They were crouched between the wall and one of the couches. Hopefully, an attacker wouldn’t see them. Maybe they’d just see an empty room and move on.
His mother had a gun.
She checked it again, raising it above the couch to study it in the dim light from the nearest window.
“This’ll protect us, okay?” she said.
The words did little to soothe William’s shallow, rapid breaths. A gun was a scary thing. He’d never seen one up close. The pistol had a rugged, mechanical texture that made it seem a whole lot heavier—and a million times more powerful—than the black water pistol he’d found once in a box in the closet.
“I’ll be your blocker,” William said. “They can’t see us if I’m blocking you.”
He sensed his mother’s smile.
“You’re right, sweetheart. Just close your eyes and make us invisible.”
“How?”
“Just by closing your eyes. Imagine we’re smaller than ants. Then no one will see us.”
William shut his eyes tight. It was hard at first because of his fear of the pistol and the gunshots outside—there were so many, and were they getting louder?—plaguing his every thought. Soon, though, with enough focus on what life as an ant might be like, he was able to calm himself, confident no one would see them now. Not a chance.
Then the world exploded.
The house shook. The bang sounded like a bomb going off. Glass shattered and wood splintered. William screamed. His mother grabbed him, spun them around, and pressed William against the wall, shielding him with her body. Debris scattered everywhere, hitting the wall and sliding into William’s hair.
An engine roared. His mother released him, then rose over the couch—which was now askew, partially exposing them—and began pumping round after round at the pickup truck that had crashed through the living room wall only seconds earlier.
With another roar of its massive engine, the truck backed out of the wreckage.
“We have to run,” his mother shouted. “Through the back!”
William tried to follow her, but his devil’s foot made him trip over the debris scattered all over the living room floor. He heard his mother click her tongue in frustration.
I’m sorry, Momma, he wanted to say, but his mother wasted no time in grabbing his shirt and yanking him upright.
A shadow fell across the living room floor.
Dragging William with one hand, his mother had to reach her right arm across her left shoulder to fire the pistol at the man looming in the opening.
The shadow disappeared.
“It’s Ian,” his mother said, and she sounded terrified.
They hurried toward the kitchen and the back door, Charlotte clearing the room first with a swing of the pistol in every direction. William’s ears still throbbed from the intensity of the crash. He struggled to keep up, hoping his foot wouldn’t betray him again.
His mother swung the back door open.
William saw only the darkness of trees, heard the chirping of some insect he’d never bothered to learn the name of, and he prepared to run faster than he’d ever run in his life—when, behind him, something clicked and the kitchen light turned on.
A sudden, painful force sent him tumbling, careening toward the cabinets to his left. He crashed head-first, neck bending in a way that made him dizzy afterward—but not too dizzy to see his attacker grab his mother by the hair before she could escape through the door, yanking her backward with enough thrust to make her trip and fall.
Ian glared down, a black rifle held at his side. It was the scariest-looking gun William had ever seen, way scarier than his mother’s pistol, resembling a half-machine, half-alien creature that had grafted itself onto Ian’s right arm—a creature that fed on violence and pain.
“Momma,” William said. “Don’t hurt her!”
Ian ignored him. He kicked away the pistol Charlotte had dropped.
“You led him here,” he said, practically shouting the accusation at Charlotte, who lay on her back, wide-eyed, perfectly still except for her panicked breaths. “The telepath with the flamethrower. And now Eli’s dead thanks to you.”
“That’s too bad,” his mother said, her tone laced with a poison that chilled William’s entire body. “I always liked Eli. It should have been you.”
“You’re right.” Ian nodded, calmer now. “It should have been me. He saved my life, you know. Took my place. Which is bad news for you.”
He lined up the rifle with Charlotte’s forehead. Despite her impending death, her breathing had slowed. She spread her arms, forming a T-shape with her body.
Screaming, William clenched his eyes shut.
But there was no shot.
“Ian…” A new voice, gruff, deep, and familiar, filled the kitchen. “Don’t do it.”
When William opened his eyes again, he saw Ian focused on another person who had entered the kitchen. Ian frowned, as if it were the last person on Earth he’d expected to see.
Scrambling to sit up against the cabinet, William watched Doctor Ford cross the room. He must have entered through the hole in the living room.
“Midas,” Ian said. “She betrayed us. She… N-now, Eli’s—”
“Eli sacrificed his life to save yours,” Midas said. “I heard it all. But ask yourself why he did it.”
Ian spoke through gritted teeth. “S
he has to pay.”
“Ask yourself why.” Midas approached Ian with his hands up. “Did he die for you so you could shoot a mother in front of her baby boy? So you could execute a mother in cold blood? Is that what Eli would have wanted? For you to live the rest of your life knowing you did this?”
Ian hesitated, scowling at the floor. When he looked up again, rage twisted his features.
“We’re all going to die today, anyway. Doesn’t matter.”
“It matters for your soul, boy.” The doctor’s voice had risen into a shout. “Die a man, not a vengeful coward. We’re being attacked by soldiers, and you’re here aimin’ your rifle at an unarmed woman while her little boy watches. You step back now. Honor your friend’s memory. Get back out on the battlefield where you belong, with your brothers.”
William held his breath, watching as Ian sneered at Charlotte once more, rifle aimed at her face.
Finally, the rifle swung away.
Ian’s face collapsed, his lanky body falling to the floor. He landed in a sitting position, dropping the rifle with a clatter, and covered his face with both hands as he began to cry.
“Get up, boy.” The doctor was addressing William now, not Ian. “Help your momma. Run out of here and go somewhere safe, outside of town.”
William nodded, then got to his feet.
Taking his mother’s hand, he helped her up. Without another word, they ran through the back door and into the dark forest.
28
A grenade crashed through the town hall’s front window.
Screams rang out inside, moments before the explosion shattered the remaining windows, forming spiderweb cracks on the outer wall. Townsfolk ran through the pouring smoke, out the front door, where they were subsequently mowed down by two Republic soldiers wielding AR-15s.
Dominic arrived in time to see the last innocent person—a woman he knew well—fling her arms into the air before falling down the front steps.
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