She could smell the fumes, hear the blades whipping the Egyptian night sky and feel the sand stinging her face and eyelids.
She took a slow breath in, aimed instinctively and squeezed the trigger.
Pop, pop, pop
She listened to the impact of the bullets tear through metal and had time to smile with satisfaction before hearing the blades of the chopper angle dangerously close.
Instinctively, she leaped away from the sound, skidded on her jean-clad knees curling into a ball and covering her head with her arms.
The blades shredded the wooden billboard sending splintered projectiles barreling toward the metahuman.
A burst of fire tore through the air, lighting the night sky just in time to see the chopper careen nose-first toward the dunes just past Farrow. The dying machine's tail blade motor was billowing smoke, blackening the stars from view as it aimed itself to exact revenge on its killer.
Everybody watched helplessly through their car windows as Farrow disappeared in a thick explosion of sand.
“Oh dear God, no!” Margo breathed her prayer, worn hands covering her mouth and nose.
The family hadn’t driven far before the sedan turned back, skidding in a wide turn. Theo followed seconds later. No one was willing to leave anyone behind—never again.
Everybody grimaced in stunned horror at the space where Farrow had been moments before.
Dust began to settle mournfully.
Sloan had donned gloves and crouched on the floorboard of the sedan's back seat. Even with all the commotion going on outside, and the jostling they were experiencing inside the vehicle, her steady hands kept working to flush Alik's eyes. She had been carefully but hurriedly drenching Alik’s face, trying to remove as much as the burning oil as possible without spreading it. She had only used one water bottle on him when he woke with a gasp. His eyes so swollen he was nearly blinded.
“Farrow!” he screamed against the ominous silence. His voice sounding like shreds of vocal cords strummed with sandpaper.
Sloan watched in awe as he clambered to unfasten his seat belt and felt around in a painful fog for the door handle.
“Alik, I need to keep working on you—”
“I need Farrow!” His raspy voice cut through the menacing quiet that followed the chopper crash. His swollen fingers grabbed the handle and yanked it open, spilling him onto the sandy ground.
Margo watched her son with tears in her eyes through the windshield of her van. He stumbled on his weak legs desperately trying to stand, blinded and in pain.
“Farrow!” His voice cracked with anguish. He reached blindly and began taking heart-wrenching steps in the dark, looking for the girl he somehow knew was out there and needed him.
“Margo, what do we do?” Theo whispered.
Margo shook her head sadly. “Maybe she—”
“There’s no way she survived that,” Theo finished her thought.
Everybody watched in horrified sadness as Alik stumbled on wobbly legs, hands outstretched searching for the girl who captured his heart in her sparrow’s wings.
After a dozen yards, Alik sunk to his knees in the sand, shoulders hunched over and sobbed.
“How does he know she was out there?” Evan asked no one in particular.
“The heart knows.” Sloan choked back a sympathetic moan as she watched.
“Give him some light, Evan,” Creed nodded toward the scene.
Feeling the weight of his brother’s sadness, Evan stepped out of the car, reached for the lighter in his front pocket and instantly created a ball of glowing firelight, illuminating a large radius in the sea of sand.
Time hung limp in a hangman’s noose and no one moved.
“Alik!” a small voice called.
Raising his head, Alik used his hearing to track what could have just been an echo of her voice carried on a cruel breeze.
“Farrow?” he coughed through tears.
Running footsteps approached.
Alik struggled to get to his feet and once upright, swayed as though standing on the bow of a small boat rocking in the sandy waves.
Everybody watching from the cars only saw Alik raise his hands to touch black night air until a pale, feminine face dusted in sand stepped out of the darkness and into the glow of Evan’s firelight.
“I dreamed—” Alik’s swollen eyes began to spill fresh tears of relief.
“I’m here,” Farrow managed softly, though she had breathed in the desert. She reached out and laid her hands on Alik’s shoulders.
“Are you hurt?” He desperately wanted to see for himself, or at least touch her face, but he knew better than to spread the painful oils to the girl he loved more than his own heartbeat.
“I’m okay, but we need to go, baby,” Farrow ignored common sense and took Alik by the oily hand to lead him back to the cars.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he tried to pull away.
“Not touching you would hurt me more.” Farrow continued to pull him along.
“You’re amazing, little sparrow.”
“We need to move, Ally—” she coughed, desperate for a clear airway, “—those guys in the chopper must have radioed our position back to Williams. They’ll be coming for us.”
“I’ll follow you anywhere,” Alik gripped her hand.
The two approached the van and Farrow helped Alik into the far back seat before climbing in herself.
From his car seat, Danny’s eyes were wide with worry at the sight of his brother. Having taken his responsibility as guardian of the defenseless child seriously, Maze leaned back against him to shield the boy’s view before a series of canine sneezes hit. His sharp nose was feeling the sting of the pepper spray wafting in the air. When he finally stopped sneezing it was only because he started licking his muzzle and whining sympathetically. Danny wrapped a pudgy arm around him and craned his neck around so he could see his brother.
Margo’s heart squeezed tightly in her chest for her oldest son. The soldier in her forced her shoulders square and her voice calm. “Farrow, are you well enough to help Alik wash away the oils from his face?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Farrow said through a raspy cough and started searching for supplies with shaking hands.
Theo’s phone started chirping. He glanced down at the screen. “Margo, they’ve shut down the airport because of the approaching storm.”
Margo flinched reflexively.
“Jacobi recommends we take cover as they’re reporting damaging high winds and zero visibility.”
“Mom!” Evan’s voice carried through the rolled down window of the sedan that had pulled up beside them. “We good to go?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “Change of plans, though. Sandstorm shut down the airport. Just follow us,” she yelled. Trying to decide what to do, Margo looked back at her children who were trusting her to keep them safe.
“What do you want to do, Margo?” Theo was looking at her expectantly.
Watching her son with Farrow made her heart swell with desperate hope for the future. Then her eyes locked onto Danny. He had been watching the worry and panic carve lines into his mother’s face.
“Danny? Remember what you said to me about the salt water?”
“Yes!” His whole face broke into a wide smile.
“Do you think you could try to help Alik feel better?”
Danny started bouncing excitedly in his seat. Concerned over the sudden change in his behavior, Maze whined and licked the boy’s face causing the curls on that side of his head to stick up adorably.
“I can help everybody feel better, Mommy.”
Margo smiled widely at her youngest son’s enthusiasm. She turned back around and looked at Theo.
“Are we really doing this?” Theo asked.
“Head south. We’ll look for signs leading us to the turnoff for the Fayed Oasis.”
“You want to take the children to ‘The Great Bitter Lake’ in the hopes that our four-year-old will be able to cure their wounds in
the salt water? And all of this has to happen, oh I don’t know, before a sandstorm rolls in? Not to mention the insane Dr. Williams on our heels trying to wipe us off the face of the earth? Have you lost your mind?”
Margo frowned, “Well, when you say it like that, it does sound pretty far-fetched—but can we argue as we drive?” Margo motioned emphatically toward the road.
The van made a wide turn followed by the sedan. Within moments, they were driving as fast as they could down the road.
23 Williams’ Contingency Plan
Back on the sand dune, Kerry Braden grimaced at the dislocated shoulder he’d suffered during the crash. It wasn’t the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. He unbuckled his harness and tumbled to the ground, catching himself with his good arm but still biting back the urge to yell.
He looked around to find his teammate. He didn’t have to look far. The rifleman’s body slumped in his harness. From his angle, Braden could see the misshapen side of his head—gray matter glistening in his hair. His rifleman was dead.
"Shit," he muttered softly as he reached for the radio.
“Base this is Company Leader, Braden with Chopper 1. We’re down. I repeat, we are down.”
“Survivors?” clipped the voice on the other side of the radio.
“Just me.”
“Triangulating coordinates. A recovery team is en route, sir.”
“Copy,” Braden clipped.
Not willing to see the Director in such a state, Braden worked his way out of the cockpit and walked around to the chopper’s skids. He positioned himself against the landing blade and with a silent scream, whacked his shoulder as hard as he could.
The first two times didn’t work.
He only had enough strength for one more try before the pain would make him pass out..
This time he took a running start. The lightning strike was so intense, he couldn’t help but cry out, fall to his knees and keel over from the pain. That’s how the recovery team found him five minutes later.
The rescue team stretched him across the back seat of the Hummer they drove. The jostling of a bumpy ride back to the makeshift base woke the Company Leader. He swung his legs off the bench seat and sat up carefully, holding his shoulder still with his opposite hand as he moved. He didn’t know how his aggravated shoulder would behave so he braced for the possible stabbing pain.
He felt nothing except a dull ache once he sat up, so he tried some slight movements as he tested for mobility.
“What do we know of the Winters?” He barked to the two metasoldiers up front. They hadn’t noticed him awaken so they jumped, startled in their seats.
The driver recovered first. “Sir, we assume they were headed for a local airport but the impending sandstorm swept away any tracks we could see—grounded all flights, too. They have to have found a place to wait out the storm. That’s about as much as we know, sir.”
“You’re Harris, right?” he narrowed his eyes at the rearview mirror and locked eyes with the driver.
“Yes, sir. Christopher Harris of 18th Company.”
“And you?” Braden directed his question to the meta in the front passenger seat.
“Dixon. Brenda Dixon—also 18th Company, sir.”
Braden nodded once to her over-the-shoulder glance.
“When we arrive at base, see about securing all equipment, strapping tarps over the remaining weaponry and reinforcing windows with whatever you can find. We’ve suffered enough casualties tonight,” the Company Leader ordered.
“Sir, yes, sir.”
“When is the sandstorm due to hit?”
“In approximately sixty-five minutes.”
The Humvee pulled up to the warehouse-looking building just as the wind started to pick up—hinting at the approaching storm.
Braden, deep in thought, shook his head to himself as he flung the car door open and stepped into the blustery night air. This whole operation was screwed up, he thought angrily. He didn’t care about the metas who died that night, but what he did care about was the poorly planned and executed attack.
He nodded acknowledgement of the salutes from the metahumans who saw him coming. Word traveled fast, he deduced. That’s one thing Williams had never given the metasoldiers credit for. He assumed his soldiers didn’t communicate. Well, he was about to get a revelation.
He knocked briskly at the closed door flanked by two metasoldiers dressed for battle and waited for a response.
“Enter!” Williams himself barked.
Kerry Braden walked confidently into the room and stood at attention.
“Report,” Williams ordered though he was only half listening as his attention was drawn to the weather report flickering across his laptop’s screen.
“Sir, the pursuit of the Winter Clan ended approximately sixteen kilometers southeast of here when the group converged at an old billboard. Former sniper specialist, Farrow Schone M440 was witnessed taking aim at our helo while the rest of the group escaped in their vehicles. Her shot was precise and catastrophic causing the chopper to crash. My gunner was killed on impact. When last seen, the vehicles were continuing their southeast route on the highway.”
“And what exactly do you suggest is done about this, Company Leader?” Williams had already been made aware of the situation via radio communication with the rescue team, but he wanted to hear whether Braden had the fortitude to relay the truth to him. Fortunately for Braden’s sake, he did.
“Sir, we know the Winter Clan will eventually try to return to their home in Texas. They have probably already made arrangements to leave Egypt and fly back Stateside once the storm has passed. We converge at their ranch and take them out.”
“We converge?” Williams was watching Braden closely.
“Sir, we have lost too many metasoldiers tonight. We need backup to finish this operation decisively. Seventeenth Company needs to be ordered to active duty and immediately flown to Texas where we will meet. They are young, but they are formidable. As a collective, we will pose an insurmountable force against the Winter Clan.”
The excitement and determination in Braden’s voice was engaging. Williams regarded his soldier with quiet approval before nodding once. “You have my permission to mobilize 17th Company immediately. Furthermore, I want a complete strategy plan on my desk by dawn, Braden. Include what equipment you foresee needing, vehicles and weapons, and contingency plans for each pivotal point in the implementation of said plan.”
Kerry Braden’s eyes were lit with equal parts excitement and determination. “Sir, yes sir!”
“Dismissed.” Williams turned his back on Braden and resumed his study of the sandstorm’s ever-changing Doppler radar tracking.
“Oh, and Braden,” Williams called after the metasoldier.
Braden spun on his heels, shoulders back, eyes straight ahead, awaiting further instructions.
“Make sure we are ready for this sandstorm.”
“Sir, I anticipated this need and have already set the soldiers to work preparing us for the storm.”
Williams pursed his cracked lips into a tight smile and waved his gloved hand at Braden, “Good. As you were, soldier.”
24 Choose
To almost anyone watching, Rhett Hays seemed completely engrossed in his weight lifting. His face was a picture of concentration as he pushed the silver barbell and black weight plates smoothly into the air above his chest. Chiseled mounds of muscle rolled beneath his tight skin as he worked. His gray-green eyes were crisp with calculating intelligence. Rhett’s rise to the top of 17th Company wasn’t a surprise to anyone. No one even came close to his level of charisma and leadership. Rhett wielded both effortlessly.
His spotter, Nate, watched his movements beneath the barbell—ready to step in the moment he was needed. Not that he ever was. Rhett was as strong physically as he was mentally.
The gym was nearly empty at oh-one-forty and a conversation would easily go unheard by outsiders, but Nate knew better than to speak unle
ss spoken to—especially when Rhett was deep in thought.
Nate Townsend and Valen Springer were excellent at reading their leader. As his seconds in command, they prided themselves in discretion and intuitive obedience.
They were invaluable in Rhett’s eyes; each with a special skill set.
The female metasoldier, Valen, was the weapons and battle expert. She fought efficiently, taking down targets using the fewest strikes necessary—viper fast, and one after the other until no one was left standing.
Nate was a one-man (meta) Human Resources specialist. He handled details and logistics—orchestrating the thirty-three soldiers in 17th Company with tough-as-nails effectiveness, consistency and brilliance.
Rhett valued both their opinions, appreciating the way they worked like two hemispheres of one brain.
Two hours before, the entire 17th Company had been ordered into active duty and were to fly out at oh-eight-hundred hours. Their destination was Texas. Their objective was to aid in the extermination of the faction known as “The Winters.” A hastily assembled dossier detailing the target had been compiled by administrative staff left to oversee the Facility in the Director’s absence. The highest-ranking soldier remaining at the compound hand-delivered the stack of papers to Rhett an hour before. Nate and Valen read it after him.
Immediately, Rhett ordered an emergency meeting of 17th Company. They were to meet at the Retribution Pit at oh-two-thirty hours. He hadn’t shared his considerations with his seconds in command, but he didn’t need to. Nate and Valen knew his orders would be a balance between daring and cautious—and always in the best interest of those in his charge.
With thoughts weighing heavily, Rhett had chosen to work out at the gym instead of catching a few hours of sleep before gearing up for departure. And though he didn’t require them to, Nate and Valen had followed his lead, staying at his side no matter what.
Valen was stretching after her workout nearby. The female metasoldier’s athletic physique was both handsome and stunning. She looked as lethal as she was, her yellow tiger’s eyes watching every corner of the large room, aware of every movement, every voice—measuring them against her senses as she discreetly guarded Rhett.
Winter's Legacy: Future Days (Winter's Saga Book 6) Page 11