ALICE, OF MAN

REALITY BLEED BOOK 12

J.Z. TEACHER

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Epilogue

What’s Next?

About J.Z. Foster

Winter Gate Publishing

This one is for Jim Armstrong who got pissed at me every time I told him the book wasn’t finished.

I’d also like to thank my wife and daughter who supported me through the long nights of writing this series.

Lastly, I’d like to thank everyone who kept on until book 12. You’re what made this worth doing.

PROLOGUE

CINDY HARPER’S hand was bleeding. She might have rubbed it against a sharp piece of glass but she wasn’t really sure. All she knew was that blood was running down her fingertips.

That was fine.

Three days ago, an American soldier showed her and a group of other people too young or too old to do anything else how to make a molotov cocktail.

Her job was to stuff the rags in.

The soldier seemed a hundred feet tall with a chest as thick as a truck. He hadn’t sounded like one of her school teachers with a practiced calm and reassuring voice—no, his voice hit like a hammer yet somehow was reassuring all the same.

“All hands hold a rifle,” he’d said, his eyes falling on her among the crowd as he said it.

Cindy didn’t have a rifle, but she did have a red bucket filled with strips of torn rags and cloth, and a blue bucket with glass bottles half filled with gasoline or alcohol, or whatever it was they were putting in there.

“Fire kills them,” she whispered as she grabbed a strip of cloth that looked like it came from some old Christmas shirt. She could see the jovial grin of a Santa Claus, but it was cut off from the nose up. That beard was unmistakable, though.

She grabbed a bottle with her bloody hand and red ran down the side as she worked her finger into the opening. The fumes made her sick, so she held her breath when the bottles were close.

She pulled her fingers out and held the glass up to make sure the strip made it down to the liquid.

It did.

Another bead of blood ran past her grip.

“What color do you bleed?”

That was another phrase floating around the small neighborhood war center.

“Red,” Cindy whispered. “We all bleed red.”

“No!” her little brother shouted next to her, but that was something he said constantly now for little or no reason—he was at that age, after all. She had him in a baby pen someone had found in one of the houses. Now, he gripped the bars and yelled or cried. He probably needed a diaper change, but Cindy didn’t have a diaper.

She only had bottles to arm and blood to spill.

He’d outgrown diapers, but after all that had happened, Cindy accepted that Ben going back to pissing his pants was totally understandable.

Despite her brother's wails of misery, they’d been the lucky ones. She’d seen enough that weren’t. The roads and highways were overrun now—and Cindy didn’t know much, but she knew that meant there was no escape. You stood and fought where you were and you waited—you prayed—that help was coming.

And sometimes, you might just get lucky.

So far, their luck hadn’t run dry yet, and even with the roads overrun, they’d made it to . . . wherever this was, and at least now there were people standing to fight instead of running.

Young Cindy Harper wanted to fight.

But they said she was too young . . .

So instead, she grabbed another bottle and stuffed another rag in.

On her way into the camp, she’d noticed the neighborhood roads blocked with cars and hastily erected fencing and wondered if it was useful at all to block the roads when they were the only ones driving.

The monsters certainly didn’t, and she was sure they knew how to run in the grass.

What did it matter, though? She could keep running, but where would she even go?

There wasn’t anywhere left.

They were everywhere.

Even the man reading updates on vids while sweating bullets had said so.

After days of him reciting the words on the sheet of paper in his hands, he’d finally looked directly into the camera with the same expression in his eyes that Cindy had seen so often before and spoke with a voice that chilled her.

“They’re everywhere.”

“I wanna go home!” Ben wailed.

“Me too.” She finished off another bottle and set it down into a yellow tub.

Someone would come around soon and gather them. A woman—Cindy didn’t know her name—would come by and check on Ben. That same woman had offered to take and care for him, but Cindy refused.

He was all she had left.

She set another finished bottle into the tub as the nightmare memory crawled its way into her brain again.

Their quiet little suburban life was going on like any other day. Her father and mother had their noses plastered in the news and kept passing each other worried looks. Cindy was worried too, but she didn’t understand exactly what was going on, and for their part, her mom and dad hadn’t been overeager to explain it all.

Everything had been fine. Just a normal day.

Until it wasn’t.

That was the only way Cindy could describe it. The creatures had been nowhere, then seemingly everywhere all at once. She wasn’t sure how.

The last Cindy saw of her mother was when she was placing Ben in Cindy’s arms and stuffing them both into the small corner closet.

“Don’t come out,” were the last words her mother ever said.

Flashes of that day popped in her brain like a strobe light as she worked a piece of cloth into a bottle.

The sounds of the door splintering.

Her father’s frantic screams.

Her hand sliding over Ben’s mouth as they huddled in the downstairs closet.

She’d known from years of hide-and-seek that there was a gap around the hinges where you could peek through and see into the living room.

She regretted that.

The face of the hellish, skinless thing with its wet and raw muscles tensing with each step would forever be with her.

It killed her father, and now . . .

Then it went looking for her mother.

Cindy had looked away and squeezed her eyes tight with the childish hope that it would all go away.

She did that again now, and with her eyes tight and head turned, her finger still worked the cloth in.

That fateful day was a short while ago, but in some ways, it felt like ages—so much had happened since then. Still, her mind would wander toward those broken shards of memories in the dull moments of the day and the flashes returned. She remembered crawling from the closet after the creatures had left, but her parents jittered to life once more.

“Hey, good work here, kid,” an old man said as he snatched up the yellow bucket. “You’re getting good at this.”

Cindy looked up at him and tried to smile, but the man only frowned.

“Sunva-bitch, you hurt your hand? Need to see the doc?”

Cindy shook her head.

“Listen now, honey, that gets any worse and you go get patched up by doc, you got it?”

“Yes, sir.” She still worked.

She looked up once more to see the man’s sad eyes as he shook his head. He gave her a soft pat on the shoulder before hefting the bucket up and sliding an empty one into its place. “Good work, keep at it. The army said they’re sending us some help and he’ll be here any moment. We’ll keep at it until then.” With a final tilt of his head, he headed off.

And like one of those old games of hide-and-seek, as the man walked off—the coast clear—the memories came out from hiding.

She remembered putting a hand over Ben’s eyes and squeezing her own shut as she walked through her father’s blood.

It was when she saw his hand twitch that she ran.

In a flash, she could see her neighborhood ablaze with death. Broken doors and windows dotted each house while gunshots, screams, and inhuman shrieks filled the air.

She remembered being in the center of the road because someone beeped and blazed past her when she stumbled back. She glanced backward and saw red footprints from her father’s blood.

And there was another horn, more shouting, and a pickup truck stopped in front of her.

Mr. Kim, her homeroom teacher from last year who always gave too much homework, had jumped out of the back and lifted her up. He was a thin and short man, but he’d summoned all his strength and lifted her with ease into the bed of the truck.

Then whoever was driving tore off.

She remembered Mr. Kim squeezed her while she cried as he held onto the edge of the truck as it jerked back and forth.

She shook her head, if only to remind herself that she was here, and not there in the bed.

The old memories wouldn’t keep her alive.

But the rags and bottles might.

She might not have the strength to throw them, or the aim for a rifle, but she had fingers and she had hands.

And she still had her brother.

She looked at him and saw his wet eyes staring back.

“All hands hold a rifle,” she whispered and picked up another bottle.

1

A HEAVY SMACK in the mouth jarred Reza Khorshidan awake. He stirred and blinked, but the moonlight shining through the windows into the dark room gave little away but a shadowy figure crouching in front of him.

Reza’s head pounded and his stomach soured. He struggled to speak with a dry throat.

“Here.”

Reza didn’t recognize the voice, but whoever it was held a bottle of water to his lips.

He tried to move his arms to take it, but he felt weak and tired. Instead, he tipped his head up and guzzled it from the stranger.

Still breathing hard, he asked, “Where am I?”

“You’re here with us,” the shadow said, and Reza could detect an accent from the capital city, Tehran. It only stirred his confusion more, as he didn’t often hear it this far to the south. Finding some strength, he held his hand up to his face and rubbed his eyes. “I can’t remember...”

The shadow shifted, coming a bit closer, and a breeze made its tangles of long hair dance—Reza could see at least that much.

“You lost a lot of blood,” the shadow said, his voice calm and comforting. “I understand it makes it hard to think. But we brought you here to answer some questions. Do you understand?”

Reza took another breath and only now did he notice the stench.

Rotten meat.

He gasped and fought to get up, but his body still failed him.

“You will speak,” an inhuman voice growled from somewhere over his shoulder.

In a panic, Reza flattened his hands against the cold ground and shifted his head to either side. He was leaning back against a couch. He raised his hand high enough to feel the cushion and pulled on it. He tried to stand again, but instead, only kicked something; it came apart and clattered to the ground.

“Oh now look what you did,” the shadow said as it reached forward. Reza winced, but the shadow only flipped a switch. “You nearly broke it.”

The flash, though from a single bulb, blinded Reza. He had kicked the lamp and sent the shade rolling across the floor. It sat in the middle of the floor, the electrical cord stretched across the stone tiles.

Reza twisted his head either way as the light assaulted his eyes, the shadowed man still unclear.

The shadow grabbed the shade and put it over the lamp, instantly softening its glow.

Reza caught his breath as his eyes adjusted.

And now he could see more clearly.

It hadn’t been hair blowing in the wind; it was thick, black tentacles reaching from a massive wound in his forehead. His head was splintered in two down to his nose.

But the man crouched before him, his face showing no discomfort.

“Oh, oh!” Reza gasped and struggled back, but only pressed further into the couch.

“Ah, don't worry.” The man waved a hand while black-tar blood leaked down his face. “A soldier shot me in the face, but it’s okay. It’ll grow back.”

“Demon! Shaitan! G-get away from me!”

“No, you don’t want that. Trust me,” the man promised, his face sympathetic. “I have questions for you. The problem is, despite appearances, I’m quite young and there is still much to understand about this world yet.” He pointed a long finger, red with blood, to the side. Reza could see where the stench was coming from. There was a pile of bodies, thrown together like a garbage heap. Their heads were cracked open and their skulls were empty and dark with dried blood and soft bits of leftover brains.

“See, I have to eat their brains to understand more.”

Reza wanted to scream but it caught in his throat. All he did was give one long, single gasp.

“Back here, look at me.” The man grabbed Reza by the chin and directed him. “Eating their brain is an imperfect process. I don’t gain everything. There are intricacies that remain alien to me, and we have some questions. I think it may be better to just ask you. So I’ll make you a deal. If you answer my questions, then I won’t eat your brain.” It was said with utter sincerity. “It’s a fair deal, yes?”

Reza mumbled as his heart thumped in his chest.

The man frowned. “I’m going to need an answer. Perhaps you need another drink of water?” He grabbed the bottle and moved it closer.

Reza summoned his courage and spoke, “Yes. I will—I will answer.”

“Fantastic.” The man grinned and tilted his head. Loose bits of skull and brain matter leaked from the head wound. He frowned as a fat piece slapped onto the floor. He picked it up and put it into his mouth, chewing it as grease leaked onto his lips.

Reza shut his eyes tight and twisted his head away.

The man swallowed and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Reza,” he whispered.

“And Reza, are you married?”

He nodded, his eyes still shut.

“Reza, it’s important that you talk. We’re still learning how to speak. We’d like the practice.” He offered a friendly grin.

Tears rolled down Reza’s face as he struggled to breathe. “Yes. I am married. Where is my wife?” He dared to open his eyes once more.

“Hmm.” The man looked away as if to consider. “Well, she’s probably dead. But there’s always a hope, isn’t there? Besides, I’m the one asking questions.”

“Y-yes.”

The man flattened one hand onto the ground and prowled forward like an animal. Reza inched back even farther, pressing his head into the cushion.

“Reza, we need to know . . .” The man’s breath was hot and stank worse than the smell in the room. “How do you know if a woman loves you?”

Reza stumbled for words. “A woman?”

“Yes. You’re married. How did you know your wife loved you?”

“I . . . She told me she loved me.”

The man frowned, a look of confusion on his face. “I see. And how did you make her love you?”

Reza steadied his breath and shook his head. “I didn’t. You cannot make someone love you.”

The man skewed his face in disappointment, appearing more confused than ever. He looked to something behind Reza before returning.

“What makes someone love?” There was an impatience growing in the man’s voice.

Reza took deep breaths. “It can’t be. You cannot force it.”

“As I told you, Reza, I’m very young. These concepts are strange. Are they difficult for children? Do children love?”

“Yes. A child is born into the world loving his mother. They start with love. Everyone else must—must . . .” Reza’s breath caught in his chest. “Must find it.”

The man’s eyes widened with interest and the dancing tentacles slowed like an ocean’s wave. “We see . . . So it’s the child.”

“The child,” growled a voice behind Reza.

“What is it?” Reza sobbed. “Where am I?”

“The child is the key,” the man said, ignoring Reza’s questions. “And did you have a child, Reza?”

He bobbed his head. “Yes.”

“And did you love this child?”

“Yes, with everything I have.”

With a surprised smile, the man slapped his hands together. “It could not speak. It could not feed itself. It could not live without your assistance. Such a burden, but yet . . . you loved it.” The man nodded with clear understanding now. “And your wife? How did you feel about your wife after she gave you a child?”

“I loved her even more.”

The man stood. “To give a child is to strengthen love. But perhaps . . . To take one and to share it . . .” The man looked away, some scheme forming in his mind.

“I don’t understand,” Reza whimpered.

“Yes, we suppose you wouldn’t.”

Reza steadied his breath. “May I ask a question?”

“Hmm. Perhaps, if it helps our understanding.”

“Why do you say we?”

“Oh, you already knew, didn’t you? It’s because we’re not alone.” The man gestured behind Reza.

Reza found his strength to place his elbow on the couch cushion and twist. His eyes traced a line behind him, but his gaze flowed toward the ceiling.

A massive demon, ten feet tall or more, clung to the ceiling with impossible ease, its fingers gripping the beams peaking the roof. It had a face like hellfire with dark skin rippled with muscle and rigid flesh. Powerful wings folded behind the abomination’s shoulders. It was a nightmare given flesh.

But its eyes. . .

The eyes of Satan—Reza knew that much—they were wide and intelligent . . .

And they were focused on him.

“That is the Archon. He is the god of this world.”

Reza’s heart seized and his jaw dropped; again, he wanted to scream but only whispers came.

“Tell me, Reza.” The creature grabbed his chin again and pulled it toward his smiling face once more.

“Have you ever met a god?”

THE HEAVY SCENT of fear and sweat was irritating, but the man was bearable while quiet. Even the whimpering gasps were endurable.

But as the Archon let loose from the ceiling and fell to the ground, landing on his feet, the man’s fear took the best of him and he found the strength to scream.

“A pity,” the Archon’s servant said as he stepped away, knowing what would come next.

The Archon snatched Reza by the throat and lifted him off the ground.

“Quiet,” the Archon commanded. “Be quiet.”

The man desperately clawed, and the Archon’s grip squeezed tighter.

He hadn’t meant to kill the man, but humans were feeble things—the Archon forgot that from time to time—and Reza’s throat was crushed.

“I believe you’ve killed him,” the servant with the broken head said.

“Yes.” The Archon still held the body.

It was an irritation, for sure, but the man had been helpful.

“The child,” the Archon growled. “I need . . . the child.”

“Yes, but where to find him?” the servant asked. “I can feel him in the hive mind. He’s there but somehow. . .”

“He hides.”

“Yes. Then we need only to lure him out.”

“Yes,” the Archon agreed. “And what more?”

“I think . . .” The servant’s brains visibly pulsed within his open skull as he tapped his chin. “I think you should send the woman a message. But she, too, hides within the hive mind, doesn’t she? Perhaps then the message should be sent with words to those like her to others like her so they can deliver the message? Do you know such people?”

“Yes.” The Archon opened his jaws wide; he bit Reza’s head off in a single bite.

The servant went on while the Archon loudly chewed. “Her son is in . . . Oh, this is giving me more trouble than I would have thought.” He reached a hand up into his open skull and pushed on the brains. “Ahh, there it is. They call it America. He’s there. But precisely where isn’t clear . . . He is younger and could be coaxed, and if you were to get her son . . . She would come to you, wouldn’t she?”

“Yes . . . the plan is . . . sound ” The Archon dropped what remained of the body.

“Then comes the next question,” the servant started. “If you have her son, will she love you or . . .” His tongue licked the edges of his teeth as he considered. “Should you kill the boy so that she may love you instead?”

The Archon considered, his back stiffening, though still hunched to fit into the house.

“I’m afraid, my king, that I have met the limits of my use. But I may serve yet still. I have a good understanding of them and their language, though it’s mostly Farsi. . .” He gestured toward the bodies. “A few of them had some understanding of English and I’ve pieced some of it together from the hive mind. Unfortunately, much of it was spilled when the soldier shot me in the brain.” The servant dipped a finger into his skull and made a face when the hand came back with wet fingers. “But if you eat my brain, it will help strengthen your understanding.”

“Yes.”

The man smiled one last time as he reached up and grabbed the broken edges of his skull. He pulled them hard enough that the bone cracked, revealing it all.

The servant offered one final bit.

“Good luck.”

NIGHTS PASSED and darkness came again, but the light of the gate in Tehran glowed and hummed with life. Green shadows danced in front of the Archon.

Lining his path were servants and slaves from the horde who’d come to witness this divine event.

They howled and screamed their praise and the torment that he would soon be away from them.

The Archon had found this place to be ripe. He still had enemies all around, but now he had a Dragon.

The world would quake beneath his heel, but they would fight without his presence here.

He walked toward the gate and its welcoming glow.

He was going to America . . . and soon . . .

He would have the woman.

Before stepping into the gate, he said:

“Alice.”

2

SMOKE LINGERED IN THE ROOM, but Alice didn’t mind.

Cigarettes were rarely a problem when breathing was entirely optional.

It was their gaze that was heavy. She felt it on her shoulders like a weighted net pulling her down, and even through the conversation she could hear their heartbeat quicken—her senses ever sharpening.

Moshe Sarrazin, Chairman of the European Federation, sat at one end of the table with his sleeves rolled up and his jacket cast aside to an empty chair against the wall. A smoldering cigarette perched between his fingers—one more spent old man among the crowd.

Alice was at the front of the room, waiting patiently. Her malignant arm was in a sling and held tight to her chest with a drape over it.

“Apologies, Ms. Winters,” Sarrazin said, turning his tired, red eyes on her. “As you can imagine, we’ve been up late with much to talk about.”

Alice gave only a simple nod.

Moshe continued, “It seems the horde has broken through the German’s southern defense and now has poised to take their center. And the refugees of East Germany have traveled with infected among them.”

“Not infected,” Alice corrected. “These were hatchlings. They were never human.”

Sarrazin nodded and took a drag from his cigarette. “Oh, yes. Sometimes it’s difficult to keep them all in consideration.”

Alice shifted her position. “Did you call me here to talk about the creatures?”

Sarrazin flagged his hand in front of him. “No, no. The man your father sent, Mister, uhh, Westwood, he has been quite valuable in providing insight. He’s answered many questions, but he could not give us everything.”

“Then what?” she asked, and politely ignored the unnerved squirming of the others.

She already knew what they wanted.

They want to see the arm.

Alice felt it best to let them ask, lest she seem overeager.

Sarrazin stuffed his cigarette into an ashtray and gestured to the man on his left. “This is Mr. Schmidt, the German finance minister. You see, when important decisions need to be made, the Germans always send their finance minister. He would like to have a look.” He made a gesture toward Alice.

Schmidt, a thin man with round glasses who still wore his coat, leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “Of course, only if it does not offend. You see, I have only read about them and I’ve seen the vids, but I have yet to see one up close.”

“I’m not one of them,” Alice said, her voice sharp.

“Of course, of course,” Schmidt insisted. “I only meant to . . .”

“I know what you meant.” Alice pulled the drape off, revealing her blackened arm in the sling. She dropped the drape on the table, but it slid off and hit the floor. Alice grabbed the clasps on the sling and pulled it down with the sound of velcro separating.

It revealed the horror that was her left arm.

“Remarkable . . .” Schmidt whispered.

Alice stretched her arm and the ligaments cracked and popped while the scales flexed but stayed tight like armor. It had changed, even now, growing longer and thicker with new muscle. It still had an extra joint and she uncoiled the whole limb and its pointed claws.

Schmidt looked both horrified and curious as he focused. “How is it that you control it? Does it not spread?”

“It works as well as any other limb, and it doesn’t spread. It’s not like that. It was a gift.”

“A gift?” he asked, his eyes full of curiosity as he looked up to Alice.

“The Archon gave it to me.”

Schmidt cleared his throat and steadied his voice. “Yes, the Archon. He’s something of a god, isn’t he? Of course we do not believe such things, but from your own reports it seems that the creatures believe he’s something divine if they believe anything at all.”

Alice nodded.

“And you, Ms. Winters?” Schmidt watched her carefully, his voice stiff and his words focused. “Are you a god?”

Alice couldn’t help but glare. Somehow, the question felt like a fuck you screamed into her face.

“No. And he isn’t either.”

Moshe cleared his throat after a moment of tension. “I would hope not. I don’t suspect it’d be easy to kill a god.”

“No, and it won’t be easy to kill him either. I’ve tried. I’ve failed. But I won’t fail again.”

“That’s certainly the aim of things,” Moshe agreed. “But tell me, Ms. Winters . . . You were inside their hive mind. You understand them. We cannot grasp it, but maybe you do. What does it mean for the Archon to be a god?”

Alice felt a dark presence roll over.

She felt him.

She looked down at the arm, the sharp little nails twitching on reflex as new muscle knit beneath the skin, making her ever more powerful.

He was still here.

“It means he can take this world and reshape it. He can crawl down into the heart of it and corrupt everything, pouring his poison into the roots.”

Schmidt made a face, more confused than anything else. “I don’t understand. His poison?”

She held the arm up. “The poison he put in me. It’ll turn the soil black. It’ll crawl up into the trees until it strangles every living thing in this world and whatever is left, they’ll take to the gates and feed back to Mother.”

“Mother?” Moshe asked.

Alice shook her head. “There are some secrets even I don’t know, Chairman.” She put her arm down and curled her jagged fingers into a fist, feeling the sharp tips against the leatherlike palm of her hand.

Schmidt raised a finger. “I have one final question. If he could crawl down into the center of our world and poison it . . . why hasn’t he done it yet?”

“Because . . .” Alice hesitated.

Because he wants me.

She knew that but she dared not say it.

“I don’t know,” she lied.

Moshe let out a breath. “Well then . . . We’ve received the Ghost from America and we’ll soon dispatch her to Germany, but we’d appreciate it if you could speak with her first. Perhaps there’s, I don’t know, something you could offer her? You’re certainly free to go, but I’m told you have some requests before you head back to the United States.”

“She opened her fist, and despite how hard she’d pressed, it hadn’t punctured the skin. “I need some help with the arm.”

MILES MINDLESSLY STARED at the cafeteria window and up toward a cloudless blue sky. His brain felt like it was overheating. He’d just run through reports with half a dozen European Federation dignitaries who traveled here just to meet with him and beg and plead for American manufacturing and food assistance.

It wasn’t that long ago that there’d been a bit of a trade war between the two old allies, with the Europeans scoffing at the idea of needing the cultureless swill and tasteless sludge that came out of the US.

Miles could understand. Who the hell needed processed American slop when the French have their cheese and the Italians their pasta and wine, or the Germans their sausage?

It was true, Miles could confirm, European cuisine beat out American every time—but what the Federation didn’t have was highways.

“Shit on that,” Miles hissed under his breath.

Who would have thought it? All those nice European trains to haul goods around, but they were also good for spreading the infestation.

The Soviet Union had collapsed in the blink of an eye because of their own rail lines.

It meant cargo didn’t go out and fuel wasn’t pumped. It also meant bellies went empty and some people might starve to death before they had the chance to be eaten.

Weapons were a bit of an issue, too, in the Federation.

Despite its own problems with protests, pollution, and corruption, the Federation had stood in wide-eyed terror at the gun violence prevalent in the US.

“Could use a bit of that violence here,” Miles mumbled.

The US had problems, but they weren’t the same. Interconnected with a highway system and dispersion of weapons and manufacturing, it meant the Americans might be the only ones able to supply the world.

“God help us all,” Miles whispered to himself.

Yes, there was a lot to think about. Numbers to crunch, calls to make, reports to file.

. . . But Miles was having trouble focusing.

Instead, he rolled a pen cap around in his pocket. It was a thing he’d done when he was nervous, though he thought he’d long since outgrown the habit.

“Uhh,” he groaned and leaned his head back, turning to look at the lime-green paint inside the room. “Focus on the paint. The ugly, piss-green paint.”

“You do that often?” Endo asked, a pair of chopsticks in his hands. He sat across from Miles with a steaming bowl of soup placed before him along with three empty ones.

“Do what?” Miles asked.

“Talk to yourself. You keep mumbling the entire time.” Endo snagged a few noodles with the chopsticks and scooped them into his mouth.

“I’m a cluttered mess, mate. Lot runnin’ through my brain. How about you, though? Never seen a man shovel down as much slop as you have in the last twenty minutes. What is that you’re eating anyway? Is that chicken noodle soup?” Miles groaned. “Didn’t you get the memo, mate? They still have the good stuff here for all the bigwigs. That’s the subpar shit they’re going to dump out there for the masses. Besides, I think the French will jail you for eating soup with chopsticks. There was a time they might’a lopped your head off for witchcraft if they caught you like that. What kind of git eats soup with chopsticks?”

“I always have a set of chopsticks on me. And this is the food they offered. We should eat when we can.” Endo scooped another tangle of noodles into his mouth.

“Reasonable enough, but I’m no soldier, mate. I’ll pass on the slop. Could do with some beans and toast if I find it.” Miles took the pen cap out of his pocket to fiddle with but it slipped from his fingers and rolled across the table.

Endo watched it settle and went back to eating.

“How’s the stomach going, yeah? You get the meds you need for it?” Miles asked.

“It’s fine. I’ve been resupplied,” Endo said between scoops.

A few seconds ticked by before Miles pointed across the table. “You know what really takes the piss, mate? You never talk with your mouth full and haven’t spilled a drop of gruel onto the table, you never piss and moan about anything, and to top it all off you said, ‘I’ve been resupplied,’” Miles said, mocking Endo’s tone of voice.

Endo swallowed his food and met Miles’ eyes. “Why is that irritating?”

“Because you don’t know how to turn it off, mate. Gotta learn how to hang loose. Let a little dribble on the table, call someone a shithead sometime, let your ass hang out a bit, yeah? You do that long enough and we’ll start working toward women next. Attitude like yours gets you all stuffed up. You won’t shit right at all when you’re fifty.”

Endo paid him no attention as he went back to eating.

“Oh come on, nothin’ from that? You know how hard it is getting a reaction out of you?”

Endo looked up once more, his voice flat. “Why? Would you want one?”

Miles leaned in and rubbed his chin. “See, I don’t know if you’re honestly asking me or if you’re threatening to shank me with your pig sticker. Where is it anyway?”

“With security.”

“Lovely conversation it is with you. I appreciate the back-and-forth. Really nice verbal release and all that. ”

Endo finally let out a breath and set his chopsticks down. “What?”

“There he is.” Miles grinned. “Talk a little shit about his conversation skills and we can get at him, I see. What’s the point in life if you can’t piss your mates off on occasion?”

Endo froze, and for once, Miles noticed a hint of confusion.

“Are we friends?” Endo asked.

Miles threw his hands out to his sides. “You taking the piss, mate?”

“No.” Endo went back to eating.

A few seconds passed before Endo glanced up with a hint of a grin.

“Ahh, you peggy rat bastard.” Miles laughed. “I knew you could get the stick out of your arse when you wanted. Real funny.”

“I thought so,” Endo said as he grabbed more noodles.

Miles leaned in close to the table as if to reveal a secret. “So listen here, mate. I’ve been, well you know, my plate’s been full over here. Round the clock meetings and all that, but I keep thinking . . . you talked with Alice, yeah?”

Endo took a moment to finish the bowl and slid it aside. When he looked up, he laced his fingers together and straightened his back. “Yes. I’ve spoken with her.”

“She, uhh . . .” Miles made a face and lifted his shoulders. “She say anything about me?”

“No.”

A moment of silence passed.

“No? That it? We’re back to that bullshit again, are we?”

“No. She didn’t say anything to me. Was she supposed to?”

“Well no, but, yeah, I know her son, right?”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I know you didn’t know that, but she knows it. At least, I’m sure someone has told her.”

“Why?”

Miles pinched his face together and shook his head. “Mate, I don’t know why it is but the way you say that ‘Why?’ really hammers in how flat and irritating your tone is.”

Endo straightened his back, but otherwise didn’t react.

“Fine, fine.” Miles looked away. “I’m just saying I saved the kid’s life and now his mother is here and I suspected someone might have passed her a word or two.”

“Miles.”

Miles sighed and looked into Endo’s eyes. “Yeah?”

“Do you want me to tell her you know her son and saved his life? It does sound like something she should know.”

Miles shook it off. “No, I’ll—I don’t know—I’ll tell her when I see her. I haven’t had a chance to speak with her yet. Been busy with the whole war ‘n’all. But it’s weird, mate. It’s weird seeing her.”

Endo tilted his head and raised his eyebrows.

“No, I know. The thing and whatnot, but it’s not that,” Miles assured him. “It’s her—well her—”

“Her claw?”

“No, no! I said it’s not that.”

“You said it wasn’t the thing.”

“Well fuck me, mate, it just seems a bit odd and all that to say you don’t mind a person’s claw. Not exactly sure what a calm state of affairs is for civil conversation on that topic, but I’m not talking about any of that business, it’s more like her—I really don’t—maybe it’s her hair?”

“I didn’t notice anything strange about her hair.”

“Mate, for the love of all that’s good, I need you to turn that cyborg talk down a notch and go on a journey that most of us call a conversation between mates while I work this out. It’s just not her hair, mate. She had it ratty as all hell but she . . .” Miles groaned and rubbed his eyes.

“She’s had a shower, Miles.”

“Mate, mate. I know. Bloody hell, I swear I’d beat you to death right now if I didn’t believe you’d kill me with those chopsticks before I could try. What I’m saying is I don’t know why this is so hard on me all of a sudden.” He exhaled. “Here’s the thing. She’s gorgeous—ratty hair, claw and all.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Handful of women in the world that could make that look work and she’s one of them. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice while the two of you were trekking all up and down China.”

“I was aware but not intrigued like you apparently are.”

“I don’t understand it myself, mate. I mean, I always had a thing for blondes, brunettes, reds, and women in general, but a woman who can—literally—control armies, well that’s just . . . I don’t know what that is. How do you talk to a woman like that? And I mean, there’s a war going on, but me? I’m just like this, you know?”

“Actually, no, I don’t know. You sound drunk.”

“I’m not drunk, ya prick, I’m exhausted and confused—deeply—confused.” Miles turned his bewildered eyes back toward the lime-green wall. “I think that perhaps I should just—”

“She’s here.” Endo tipped his chin toward the door.

“What?” Miles straightened up and looked around. “Where?”

The door to the cafeteria opened and Alice walked in wearing the drape over her arm. She approached their table and looked at Miles first.

He felt the air trap in his throat and his mouth hang loose.

Alice shifted toward Endo. “They refused. They’re worried about upsetting the US government. I guess they’re concerned about damaging property.”

Endo tilted his head. “And what about you, then?”

“I want you to do it. Clean. The Germans have a few surgeons here. They’ll have to treat me before we fly back.”

Endo nodded. “If that’s what you—”

“Hello, I’m Miles Westwood,” Miles interrupted and chuckled like a nervous schoolboy.

Alice gave him a look. “We met when you arrived.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t—you know—we didn’t talk or anything. We just were introduced and well, I work for your father and I’ve—yeah—I’ve met Eli and Cora, and they’re both doing good.”

Something shifted in Alice’s eyes and she looked over Miles. “They’re all . . . they’re safe? I heard there was an attack on the White House and there were some concerns but they all made it out.”

“Yeah, oh yeah, not a scratch or anything totally—well, your dad’s leg got fucked—I mean, it got hurt and all that, so there was a scratch, but he’s—yeah, he’s gotten medical. Yeah, he’s gotten medical work.”

“Medical assistance you mean, Miles,” Endo said.

Miles snapped his fingers and gave a thumbs-up to Endo. “That’s what I meant. Yeah, he got medical assistance. But Eli, and Cora, they’re both fine. Totally, one hundred percent, the two of them.”

Alice took a sharp breath and looked as if she was about to speak, but instead looked away.

“Have you had a . . .” Miles made a phone gesture with his hand to his ear.

Endo spoke up, “Have you had a chance to call your family yet, Alice?”

“In a way . . .” She shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand. I want to call him but I can’t yet. Soon, though.”

“Yeah? I’m sure that—but yeah, he’s great.” Miles gave another thumbs-up. “Just fine. In fact, he can’t wait to see you. I can’t wait to see you—and him—together and talk about how everything is going, and well—”

“Miles,” Endo said. “I think you’re still tired and you’ll need to prepare to travel back to America, but Alice and I need to discuss a few things.”

“Hey, I’ve already talked with the suits. I’m ready to head back too, so how can I help?” Miles offered.

Alice twisted her body presenting the arm though it was still beneath the drape. “This was a gift from the Archon. I want it removed and the Germans are the best surgeons. I’m told there is a team on-site. I need to do it here and get it replaced with a mechanized limb.”

“Right, right.” Miles pointed between Endo and Alice. “But you said they refused?”

She nodded. “Endo’s going to take it off and then they’ll be unable to refuse.”

Miles blinked hard but tried his best to keep his cool. “He’s going to . . .” He sliced a hand through the air and then pointed at her arm.

Alice nodded.

Miles tapped a finger against his chin. “Reasonable enough. But, uhh, that could put you down for weeks, yeah? They’ll establish the wiring and whatnot to the brain and it’ll take some time to make more neural pathways to control the arm.”

“I’ve already been wired for a mechanized limb before. But this thing has grown into the bedding for the port. I don’t know what it’s done. It’s possible it’s corrupted my entire arm and they’ll have to install a whole new base, but I believe my body will accept it easily enough.”

“Right, right, but we could get that in the States maybe? You wouldn’t need to—”

“No,” Alice said so sharply it made Miles flinch. “You don’t understand that I want it off now.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Miles held his hands up.

“I’ll do whatever it is that you want me to do, but I don’t have my sword. I had to turn it in to security.”

“Then I’ll go tell them we need it. They won’t reject me,” Alice said.

“Except they already did,” Miles cut in. “You said it yourself, they refused to do the surgery. They might be worried about pissin’ your father off, so how about I get it?”

“Why would they give it to you?” she asked.

“Like I just said, they’re afraid of pissing your father off and I’m here representing him. Listen, last ten or so minutes aside, I’m actually a bit nimble on my feet when it comes to talking.”

“Nimble on your feet when it comes to talking?” Endo asked.

“Oh, now you’ve got the urge to take the piss. Fine. Little shaky and all that, just a bit jet-lagged, but I’ll get it done. You just tell me where and I’ll get your little butter knife and meet you out there.” Miles grinned wide and leaned in. “How’s that sound?”

MILES HAD MADE good on his promise and met Endo and Alice not far from a small walking path for the hotel grounds. But the blue skies were gone and gray clouds had blown in, threatening rain.

She didn’t mind.

She held her hands, palm up, in front of her.

Her good hand felt the breeze, and as she focused on it, she could feel how soft and gentle it was.

It was good.

It reminded her of when she was young, before her mother had died, and she would sit on the porch with a book in late fall and let the breeze wash over her.

She’d done the same with Eli. They’d sit on her father’s porch and let the breeze come in as she read him books.

She was calm.

Everything was right in the world.

The only thing that concerned her at the time was turning the next page.

Her other hand, though . . . It felt nothing.

It was strong and powerful. She could tear through a CAG helmet or shred through a door with ease.

It was not a hand for an autumn breeze, or one that could cuddle Eli.

It was for war.

But again, she was ready to turn the page.

She stiffened the blackened arm and held it out.

“Do it,” she said, even as the breeze caught her hair.

Some feet away, Endo stood stiff and upright, sword and sheath in hand.

Alice knew very little of swords or how to use them, but she could tell that Endo’s was shorter than those in the movies. His was practical and made to be carried with ease inside his armor.

He held it with an artist’s grace.

As he pulled it from its sheath, the light caught the metal and she turned her gaze away.

“Fucking hell,” she heard Miles mumble.

The next bit came fast. A flash, something like intense heat and then a thud against the ground.

And she felt the breeze again, but it was painful now . . .

It was on the open wound exposed on her arm.

Alice groaned and dropped to her knees.

Someone was yelling, but she clenched her teeth and held her eyes shut.

“Alice, Alice!”

She opened her eyes to see Miles shaking her.

“It’s fucking still moving!” he yelled and pointed.

Her arm lay on the ground, rolling about, flexing back and forth. There was a loud crack as it snapped at the elbow and bent in the wrong direction. The fingers clicked and snapped as they lengthened like legs, and wisps grew out of the open meat that had been her upper arm. They waved and slashed out trying to find something to snag onto.

“Burn it,” she hissed.

Endo came closer and poured something atop of it. He pulled something else from his pocket and snapped it with his thumb. A small flame ignited and he dropped it on the arm.

It went up in a blaze.

“It’s coming out of your shoulder!” Miles pointed.

Alice looked to see the wisps waving out of her wound.

She steadied herself on Miles and stood.

“I know,” she said. “Get me to the surgeons.”

3

LEVI WHALLER HATED his little shit-heel town growing up. He liked to turn on vids and see action movies set in New York City, or London, or wherever else. He didn’t even care if they had some kind of dumbass accent so long as it was someplace interesting.

Not his home, though. Oh, no, no, no. Caroline Creek, Georgia was about as deep as you could get to nowhere without crawling up a bear’s ass.

That was actually something people said there.

“Caroline Creek is as deep as it gets to nowhere without crawling up a bear’s ass.”

What in God’s green earth did that even mean?

Worst of all, they said it with some kind of pride, like it meant they were a people unto themselves.

It was some kind of brain rot, that was for sure, and Levi knew that was true when he found himself repeating the expression to others when he finally got out.

All they’d ask is, “Where you from?” and he’d find himself spinning like a record, unable to stop, letting them all know he was from Hillbilly Hell.

He hated that place.

Each and every day.

Until he saw it on the news . . .

See, Levi sure as hell wasn’t college material, and he had no mean work skills to speak of, so he found the best way out of town that he could.

Military.

He might have some kind of brain rot, but he could CAG up and soldier with the best of ’em.

And he was doing just that when hell opened up on Earth and every corner of the world was fighting for its life.

Levi didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but he didn’t have to. He just had to keep his chin up, jump onto a truck, and get shipped out to wherever they needed him.

He was based outside of North Carolina, but was now operating out of a Forward Operating Base in Missouri. The only thing clear to him was that there was no front line, no place to put your back to the wall. They’d sown themselves deep.

But through it all, somehow . . . somehow . . . He thought his family back home was safe.

Sure, he hated Caroline Creek, but what kind of piece of shit doesn’t love his mama or his little sis? Of course he didn’t talk to them too often, he was fighting a fucking war, right?

They were safe back there because Caroline Creek was as deep as it got to nowhere without crawling up a bear’s ass.

And what’s safer than a bear’s ass?

But he saw a map of outbreaks in Georgia on TV that made him pause.

One little red dot, nestled there in the north.

Nah, that’s not them. God-awful close, though, isn’t it?

He could have looked into it—gotten a few more details. But he knew it couldn’t have happened. Not possible. Those evil things would have had to crawl back there into the mountains, down into the hollers. Deep into redneck, hillbilly, shotgun land.

But a shotgun didn’t mean much to them, did it? He knew that firsthand. Pumped a full magazine into a twisted-up, six-legged horse to put the rotten thing down.

So no. Couldn’t be up in Caroline Creek.

Couldn't be.

But when he was back on base, he heard better of it.

“Yo, Whaller, you hear? They got Caroline Creek. That’s where you’re from, right?”

The words hit him like a kick in the balls. He felt like he could double over. And at that moment, the whole world came down on him, because while at the same time he knew it was impossible, he also knew the map well enough to know where that blinking dot was.

Right in the ass crack of Caroline Creek.

He’d just been too afraid to admit it.

Sitting on his bunk, he took a look around. Other men and women—service members, all of them—were getting the same news.

Levi rested his head in his hands.

There was no front line. No corner to crawl into. No place to throw your back against the wall.

Levi finally found some words.

“We’re going to lose this war.”

MOLLER RESTED her palms on the console and leaned forward toward the screen with a comms set over her ears.

An irritating static buzz flashed while she focused on the screen.

“Eat shit,” she heard the Ghost say through the comms as he pressed his heel onto a bullet-ridden skull of some creature. The skull cracked loud and clear with a satisfying crunch.

More static sizzled and popped as she watched.

Her ears weren’t a problem, but the new mechanical eye didn’t work quite right. Somehow, it was running out of sync with her natural eye, like it had a quarter of a second delay as it relayed the information to her brain.

“Fuck,” Moller hissed and closed the malfunctioning eye.

“Something wrong, Director?” a nearby officer asked, a comms set still on his head.

“No. Give me a sitrep,” Moller said as she pressed her thumb into the mechanical lens.

“The Chicago Southbourne suburb is clear but the north ridge is requesting Ghost support.”

Moller got her nail under the edge of the front panel and worked it loose. “When was the last time Rogers slept?”

“Approximately eighteen hours, ma’am.”

“Have the retrieval unit load him up and dose him, then redeploy.”

“Confirmed.” The officer went about calling the orders.

From what Moller noticed, the Ghosts evolved in phases. It was like the more they used their powers or interacted with the creatures, the less human they became.

Those who survived from the first generation reported that they didn’t eat, sleep, or breathe anymore.

Most hadn’t made it that far yet. She had to imagine it was overwhelming. Just last night, after clearing a mission, a Ghost walked to the edge of a bridge and stepped off it without a word to anyone.

There were a few still in the bunker undergoing mental conditioning to get them fit for duty. The Chinese had offered some new methods that seemed to help, but it still wasn’t enough.

Every little bit helped, though.

“Leave it to the Chinese to outpace us in mind control,” Roles had said to her.

Moller continued to pull at the panel opening on her eye until it clicked into place. She turned away from the console and moved toward the nest of units behind her as her lens opened. With her thumb inside the ridge, she pulled it loose, feeling the sickening slither of the ocular cord as it dragged it out from the socket. It always made her feel like she was going to throw up when the air hit the open eye socket.

Of course, she wasn’t any kind of replacement limb technician, let alone a sensory specialist, but she knew if she worked the end of the cable around, it seemed to clear things up—at least for a little while. She bent the end of the cable and felt the internal wiring beneath the rubber coating move and adjust. Why that helped, she had no idea—all she knew was the military had hooked her up with some cheap-ass junk and still expected her to do her job right.

Still working the wire over in her hand, she looked up and saw the array of teams and networks all dispatching and working with their Ghosts.

She tilted her head back as she snaked the cable into the socket and caught a look at a black digital map of the US with thick white lines on state borders and blue dotted lines on major population centers—along with blinking red lights for every location with a reported outbreak.

It looked like the map had a bad case of chickenpox.

Moller glared at it and watched a dot in southeast Kentucky light up near Lexington.

They’d put down one outbreak there just two days prior.

They’d chalked up wins everywhere they deployed the Ghosts—constantly rolling the enemy back—but it still wasn’t enough.

They spread like wildfire.

They had to focus on the population centers, but that was the game in itself. Moller could see how they played it. By forcing her to protect the big targets, they ended up getting free rein to blister the subdivisions and smaller towns.

Every time they tried to deploy further, the creatures would come and nibble at something important and draw their attention back to it.

There were reports of more intelligent creatures at work. And not just the Janissary or the Harbingers, but ghoulish things that did more than just look like people.

They could think like them too.

“Fuck,” Moller whispered as she stared at the map.

The eye started to fritz again. She hissed and jammed her thumb into the ridge. It hurt because sometimes she had to push hard and it felt like she shoved the whole eye back against the inside of her skull. She got underneath the ridge and pulled it out.

“We’re going to need more Ghosts,” Moller said to herself.

MARAT WORKED a finger behind his teeth as he stared down at a large printout of schematics he’d just collected. Some flake off a popcorn kernel got stuck behind his teeth. It was actually the third time it happened.

“That happen again? You need to stop eating popcorn,” some wiseass commented.

Marat gave him a sarcastic grin and walked past, the large document flapping.

Sure, he could blame himself. After two times of being overly annoyed when eating popcorn, why try for a third bucket?

But it wasn’t his fault entirely.

It was the Americans.

Butter pecan popcorn.

Who the hell comes up with that kind of thing? Of course he had to try it.

White chocolate popcorn.

Curious, but delicious with the same predictable annoyance.

But now . . .

Blue soda popcorn.

What kind of asshole came up with that one, and what kind of madman wouldn’t try it?

If anyone was to blame, it was the dickhead that thought to stock flavored popcorn in the bunker.

“Asshole,” Marat muttered under his breath.

He pulled his finger back, entirely disappointed, and flicked his tongue against it.

“Hey!” a man called. “You’re not supposed to take the documents out of the room! We keep hard copies for security and—”

Marat snapped his fingers trying to come up with the name. “Hey, you uhh, umm, uhh . . . dumb shit, you go get my toothpick.”

“Hey, eat shit! Now get your ass in the room!”

Marat paid him little mind as he returned to the room. He heard the complaints and curses thrown his way as he entered—but only barely. Even with his finger still digging and his tongue still licking, his mind was working across the data.

Some saw random numbers and misplaced data.

Not Marat. He knew the numbers could speak. They had a language, and oh, he knew they liked to tease. He dropped the schematic against a chorus of curses and snatched up a few printed-out documents.

More code.

More lines.

More winks and nods and hints of a lifted skirt.

“Oh, you beautiful, sexy little thing,” he said in Ukrainian.

Energy readouts. Bursts. Communication lines.

This was a map.

And he could pinpoint the bastards.

“Here!” Marat’s head shot up. “I found it right here!” he insisted and tapped.

“You found what?” asked some annoying bastard over his shoulder.

Marat snapped around and went to their table. There were printed-out engine designs but he shoved them off.

“What the hell?” someone yelled as it all clattered to the ground.

“I hate this asshole,” another voice complained.

Another whiner pipped in, “Stupid commie—”

“Shh.” Marat put a finger to his lips. “Look.”

The room quieted as Marat grabbed a red pen and started underlining lines and circling readouts.

A woman with glasses leaned in. “I’ve seen that signature before . . .”

“Yes, you dumb shits,” Marat said in a triumphant voice. “This signature, it’s same as the skill-on.”

A man across the table with his sleeves rolled up frowned. “The what?”

“He means Scion,” the woman said as she stared at the readout. “He’s right. There’s an energy spike here, and here, and here . . .” She tapped each of Marat’s underlined portions. “But what does it mean?”

Marat stuck his finger into his mouth and worked at the kernel. It came free and his tongue sucked it out. He spit it onto the floor while the rest of them frowned in disgust, then he grinned wide.

“It means we find their nests.”

4

BEIJING HAD one of the most elegant gardens in the whole world. Built during the time of the old regime, it was unique in style and contrasted greatly to the often open and sunny gardens in other cities.

No, some things were best done in the open . . .

Others in private.

This garden had high walls that cast shadows and had plants, though beautiful, that could thrive in darkness and survive with barely any light at all.

There was a flower there that ran the length of one such wall, and it was rare indeed. In fact, the only other reports of the flower are from historical texts of dynasties long dead. But those came with painted pictures instead of careful photography.

The few botanists allowed to enter the gardens to investigate still debate its origins and authenticity, but until a more plausible reason is found, there was a general agreement.

The Corpse Kiss had returned.

Given that name for the way the white flowers with the pink centers resembled the mouths of the dead and how the soft breeze could make them open and close.

The wall they’d taken root in was where the old regime would line the men up for the firing squad. Zhao himself had friends there.

The bullets from the firing squads still pockmarked the walls and the splattered blood and brains were never cleaned.

But to symbolize the change in government, the People’s Republic wanted to place beautiful flowers across it.

Dark history could always be hidden beneath a thin layer of civility.

Not for Zhao. He felt history was best understood and remembered. He liked to think that the Corpse Kiss came as a certain sense of justice, to strip the facade and allow all to remember.

Good men had stood here.

Good men had died.

And now, the holes that dotted the wall gave the Corpse Kiss places to grab, and the bloodstains from Zhao’s dead friends had perhaps given it something to drink.

Zhao didn’t often come here. It was beautiful, but it was haunting—the breeze would make the flowers open like moaning mouths. And the whistling sound always gave him a chill.

He always felt as if they got a bit more excited when he was around.

Yes, he’d long decided it was best only to visit on special occasions, but he was here today, and the quiet whistle of the breeze and moaning Corpse Kiss always left him with questions.

Were they crying for the lives of the dead?

Or were they calling for more blood?

There would be no way to know, but he supposed some poets may attempt to riddle it out eventually.

Interesting and secluded as it may be, Zhao had not come alone.

A historical scribe stood some feet away, long white and red garments running the length of his body. Gray Fox, the machine man, loomed in the shadows of one of the walls, as was his way.

And there was a governor.

One of Zhao’s old friends.

This was not a good day.

One did not stand before the Corpse Kiss for pleasant conversation.

Zhao took a seat at a small, worn desk placed near the wall for reflections and writings, and he dipped a brush in an inkwell. He signed his name with elegant letters on a white parchment that was common in museum exhibits, but otherwise unseen in daily life.

But there was another use less commonly known to the public.

It was the traditional decree for death warrants of high-ranking officials.

And while the regime and government had changed, Zhao maintained the practice. It was tradition, after all, and what was an old and accomplished country such as China without tradition?

Zhao finished his name with a razor-thin line, a mark only easily made by those with a practiced hand.

“Do you understand your crimes and why this order is being carried out, governor?” Zhao asked as he appraised his penmanship.

When the man was young, he had a stomach as tight as Zhao’s, but his hair had gone gray, belly softened.

He was an old man.

And yes, he’d been a friend.

But while young men carry rifles . . .

It’s the old men who play the game of politics.

“I understand,” the man said, his hands restrained behind him, but his chin up and his voice unwavering. “But fuck you, Zhao.”

The words seemed out of place here in the gardens of Beijing.

Such a beautiful place, it seemed a crime to use such ugly words here.

Perhaps it even was.

Zhao supposed he could write that one on the paper, too, if he wanted, but decided against it.

He finished his document. “Recordkeeper, please note the governor’s acceptance.”

The man, with his ceremonial garment fluttering in the breeze, tipped his head as he scribbled away on a datapad.

“What you did was cowardly, dishonorable,” the governor said, his voice still.

Zhao didn’t have to listen. He had other pressing responsibilities, but in the face of it all, he could still spare some moments for an old friend in his final minutes of life.

“Did you release my daughter?” the man asked.

“She was not harmed since you agreed to surrender yourself. She will be released upon your death.”

“Will she? Seems a rather unwise thing to do, giving up your leverage. What’s to keep my son from seeking revenge?”

“After your arrival, I dispatched a team to secure your offices. I’ve been too busy to get much of the details, we’re fighting two wars after all, one with hell and another with insurrectionists, but I’m told there was a fight. I suspect it was mostly your toadies and servants, but it remains to be seen if your son was amongst them. It seems possible. He was brave after all, wasn’t he? I’m sure he did not take your detainment lightly. Regardless, Marshal Tao has agreed to assume office in your providence until matters are settled.”

The man laughed under his breath and shook his head, but his distaste was clear.

“Fujian places great importance on burial, doesn't it? We’ll return your head when the war is over.”

The man showed his teeth now. “Do you expect to last that long, Zhao? I’ll soon be dead, but my honor will be intact. If we have any future at all, your memory will be of an old, feeble man who tore the country apart so only he could rule it.”

Zhao took a step closer to him. “Rule.” He let the word linger. “That’s what none of you understand. I don’t demand leadership. I suffer it.”

“Spare me. I remember when we were young. I can recall the starry-eyed shit we fed each other. Dreams and hopes don’t fill minds and bellies. The fact is, the Dragon will kill us all, but we’ll get you first, Zhao. You’re going to take a dive off the roof, and when your face splatters against the ground, we’re going to piss on it.”

Zhao gave his old friend a distasteful look. “I suspect the only thing you’ll be pissing in is your pants, as the body tends to relieve itself after death. I do apologize, you’re entitled to a firing squad, but so many of our forces are preoccupied fighting traitors while trying to hold off the demons to the west. I’m afraid we’ll have to improvise.” Zhao made a gesture and Gray Fox took a step closer, the mechanized parts of his body purring as he moved.

Gray Fox’s knees bent backward and his new legs protruded like something more akin to bird legs than human. Few in the world had a mind that could withstand such inhuman adaptations and keep their sanity intact.

But as Zhao observed the man’s grin, he found his sanity questionable.

The governor refused to look at Gray Fox, but instead kept his eyes on Zhao. “You don’t get it. If China burns, it’ll be your fault. You gave us that nasty monster and look where it’s gotten us. You took a Kasher and made him the most powerful thing on the planet and now he’s eating us! Look at this thing you have brought into the gardens. Think about what you’re about to have it do to me. You have no right to leadership. No consensus of the governors. Prove your honor, Zhao. Surrender to the Governor of Hubei. Let our people unify again.”

“I apologize, governor, but as was said, there’s much to do.”

“Zhao—”

“Can I kill him now?” Gray Fox interjected, his eyes lit with pleasure.

“Yes,” Zhao said without so much as a final glance toward the governor.

There was heavy clicking as Gray Fox’s arm opened up and a large mechanical blade shifted out from beneath the flesh.

Zhao found no joy in such things so he didn’t watch as Gray Fox grunted and swung.

It was only with the loud thump on the floor followed by the sounds of the body collapsing that Zhao knew it was done, and only then did he turn and look.

“Always thought that was weird how they don’t tip over right away,” Gray Fox said as he reached down to pick the head up and brought it to eye level. He glared into the governor’s eyes as his jaw loosened. “I think he’s still alive in there. Maybe got a few good seconds before it all kicks off.” He tossed the head aside and it bounced on the ground. “Feel free to write that part down too.”

The recorder tipped his head and continued scribbling.

Zhao ignored them both as he turned back, more interested in the flower. He’d always heard rumors of what the Corpse Kiss would do with the dead, but he’d never seen it.

Yes, he was busy, but he supposed there were still yet a few minutes to spare.

The little mouths opened and closed as the blood ran down their petals. And it seemed that they were reaching, even against the breeze, toward the body.

“See that the head is retained and prepared for burial. We’ll return it to Fujian when the time comes.”

The recorder stood with his head bowed; even while speaking, his voice was barely more than a whisper. “And the body?”

“Leave it for the garden.”

The recorder maintained his bow and backed out slowly before turning away. He stopped to gather the head and carried it with him.

“He’s not wrong, Zhao,” Gray Fox said as he folded the blade back into his arm; the sound of a metal spring stretching accompanied it. “Their armies are eating your ass end while the Dragon is chewing up your west. Either you’re going to fly or get eaten like the rest of us. Just a matter of time.”

Zhao gave him a flat look. “I’m aware of the circumstances.”

“Why not do what he said, then?”

It was only then that Zhao realized he was standing in the man’s shadow, the enhancements on his legs making him tower over normal men when extended.

His old friend had told no lies.

Zhao was in the habit of keeping company with monsters, it seemed.

“I do not believe the Governor of Hubei, or Guizhou, or Shanghai, or any other place would be able to accomplish what needs to be done.”

“Only you . . .” Gray Fox said.

“Only me,” Zhao echoed. “Do I need to be concerned with you, Gray Fox?”

“Me? The guy you kept mutilated and in a hole for years? No, of course not. I’m still doing your killing, aren’t I?”

“Yes, and you have places to be now, don’t you?”

Gray Fox pointed a finger at Zhao. “I serve at my pleasure, Zhao, not yours.” He turned to look at the flowers.

“Besides, I want to see what happens next.”

5

THE THING SITTING across from Roles no longer resembled much of the man it had been before; now it looked like a sculpted piece of putty that a child had just grabbed and squeezed. Perhaps that was Eli’s doing.

The boy didn’t look like much nestled up to Cora as they sat across the table from the soft-headed mudman, but Roles could imagine Eli’s power reaching over, squeezing, until black tar oozed between imagined fingers, on the verge of a pop.

That’s how the eye on its face looked anyway. Loose and dangling. For all his bravado, Roles himself had winced, half expecting an attack when the cartoonish head popped with a sound like a wet thumb pulled from a mouth.

“Eww.” Roles looked it up and down, his face more like a disapproving parent when they found mud on the carpet than the horror on Cora’s face.

The mudman’s body hadn’t fared much better either. Its fingers had inflated into sausages with little blue veins expanding on the edges.

The kindest thing would be to stick a pin in the wet balloon and put the god-awful thing out of its misery.

But then again, Roles was not known to be a kind man.

“You’re fucking ugly,” he said in a cold voice, but then he thought better of it and glanced toward First Lady Cora Winters. “Pardon my French, Mrs. Winters, I do get a little excited in these kinds of situations.”

Cora’s gaze flicked toward him and then back to the creature as she rubbed Eli’s head and cooed in his ear.

The mudman was a horrible and unpleasant thing to look at with the black blood leaking from its open wounds and the haunting look of pain on its face.

Unpleasant, yes, but Roles was fine—he even had a cup of coffee with him. With the long hours he’d been working, who the hell could go without coffee? He’d sent a man to get one from across the street. No sewer sludge from the machine anymore, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to risk a heart attack by dosing up with stims.

Nope. If he was going to lock horns with some godless mudman from Hell, he was certainly going to do it well caffeinated.

But Eli . . .

He was having a bit of trouble.

“You,” the monster moaned as it came out of its chair, its bloated fingers sinking into its skull. It rolled its head around but the horrible eyes stayed focused on Eli.

“Me, not him, you dumb shit, we’ve been over this,” Roles said as he rose from his seat.

The mudman swayed and moved from its spot, tipping the chair over by mistake, making it clatter onto the floor.

They hadn’t bothered to restrain it. Seemed pointless enough for something that could explode when it wanted to . But they had cooled it down in the freezer in the cafeteria.

That got the evil thing nice and numb.

And if all else failed, Eli could control it.

So long as he held out . . .

“Still with me, Eli?” Roles asked.

With his face buried into Cora’s side, he nodded.

The mudman threw its head back and wailed. Another mouth opened up on its throat and a third on its shoulder, each wailing in a new voice. It stumbled back and hit a wall, rolling up it as if gravity was merely an inconvenience, leaving black stains behind it.

The whole thing was a sticky mess that was falling apart.

“It hurts!” it called out in an inhuman voice and another joined in, “It hurts!” A third howled.

“Doesn’t look fun for sure,” Roles said and glanced at his watch.

The head leaned back and bellowed, “It was so much better . . .” The neck-mouth joined in. “—much better—when I was nothing. When I had no thoughts!”

“Yeah, that’s the problem with them growing you smart, isn’t it? Evolved intelligence, you said? Being aware is a painful experience.”

“Yes.” It slapped an arm up along the wall. It slithered against it as if trying all it could to get as far from Eli as possible. The mouth on its shoulder gasped open. “—kill us!”

“No,” Roles said, and took a sip of his coffee. He leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment.

He’d been in similar situations as this before. Well, not with mudmen melting against the wall, but with the occasional commie sweating bullets. Roles supposed there were similarities, except with a commie, you’d give him a cigarette—maybe a soda—and then offer him a passport to start spilling secrets.

Unfortunately though, the old tricks of a soda, a cigarette, or even a busty woman wouldn’t get him far here.

But Roles’ life was nothing if not interesting. And there had certainly been times where he had to break a finger or three (or ten) to get the ball rolling on an interrogation.

He wasn’t above getting the pliers out should the situation call for it.

“Why do you hate us?” Roles asked.

“We don’t hate . . . We don’t feel. We only hunger. She hungers.”

“She?”

“The Mother. Her hunger is undying. We won’t stop,” it howled in a strained and bitter voice as black blood bubbled up from its mouth. It rolled to flatten its chest against the wall and twist its head to the side. “The Mother’s hunger is unending.”

“Sounds like quite the bitch,” Roles said before glancing toward Eli and Cora. “Apologies again.”

“Worlds beyond numbers have fallen to us. You will be like–”

“Yeah, yeah.” Roles glanced at his watch. “I don’t have much longer before we have to ice you again, so let’s focus, shall we? I want to know what you are. Why are you different?”

Something had shifted in its mood and it twisted its head backward, its soft neck cracking as the bones snapped out of place. It made direct eye contact with Roles and laughed with black bubbles popping in its mouth.

“Eli,” Roles said with a nod to the boy.

Eli pulled away from Cora, his eyes red and wet. Cora snuggled him close and rubbed his head.

If he did anything at all, Roles couldn’t tell, but the creature strained and shook, its head twisted up like it was being choked, but it mumbled out words.

“The Mother has gifted me with intelligence. An evolved being.”

“Not too intelligent. You already told us that and you were just bitching about how terrible it was a minute ago. Anyway, enough about you. The Archon. We had reports that he killed others like him and behaves in ways that are . . . curious. Why?”

The creature slapped one wet hand across its mouth, but the other on its shoulder betrayed it as it gasped open. “The scarred Archon!”

“The heretic!” the mouth on its throat wailed. “The Mother’s chosen son!”

“Let’s rein it in with the Mother bullshit for now. What does the Archon want?”

“The world,” the mouth on the shoulder hissed. “When he’s pleased, he will crawl to the center of the world and corrupt it.”

“Pleased?” Roles asked.

“He wants the woman . . . He’s come to find her.”

Roles felt an itch on his back. He glanced toward Eli, but the boy still had his head buried.

“Let’s move on from him. I want to know your strategy. What do you know of the plan to kill America?”

“Is it that hard?” it moaned. “Can’t you read your maps? Do your systems and your strategist tell you nothing?”

“I just want to hear it from your squeaky voice.”

“We will spread. We will take. We will eat.”

Roles grunted. “That’s not overly useful. I want to know the strategy.”

“Then you want the Janissary. He knows. He plans. The Archon demands and the Janissary achieves.”

“That’s the best you can tell me? Tell me where the Janissary is.”

“No.” It cursed and pressed its hands to its mouth again as it slimed up the wall.

The mouth on its neck popped open but it crunched inward to hold it closed. Then the shoulder started, “The Jan—” and the creature rolled like a ball with bubbles inflating in the mud.

“Eli, could you offer some encouragement?”

Eli sneered and Roles could hear his teeth grinding.

The mudman gasped as if it were being choked.

“The Janissary . . . He hunts . . . He hunts your people. He . . . “

Roles frowned. “Eli, I think you should—”

He had barely gotten the words out when Eli turned around and stared at it.

Bubbles boiled up to the top and popped. All at once, the sludge fell from the wall and slapped to the ground. Roles pulled his arm up to his face as bits of it splattered him.

A puddle of melting ooze sizzled and popped with a single mouth in the middle of it gasping with dying life.

Roles stood and looked at it.

“Hmm.” He cleared his throat and then looked back.

Eli was crying.

Roles glanced forward once more to see a final pop as the face melted away.

“Well,” he said and frowned down at his coffee with pieces of fat now floating in it. “Guess we’re done here.”

ROLES LOOKED at his watch again. He was fifteen minutes late with a video call with the colonel in charge of making a push into an infested portion of North California. After a pat on the back with Eli, he left the mess in the room for the janitors.

Roles stepped outside and glanced at a few aides until he saw one about his size. “You, come with me. The rest of you, check and make sure none of the sludge is on the president’s family. Then burn all that’s left in there. Table, chairs, everything. And after that, someone get me another cup of coffee. I got mudman in my last one.”

The aide followed Roles into the bathroom. When the door closed, he began to unbutton his shirt.

“Uhh,” the man said, alarmed.

“Give me your shirt and burn this one.”

“Yes, sir,” the man answered and quickly reacted. Roles exchanged the splattered shirt with the man and buttoned up the new one. It was a bit tight for him. He didn’t have a flat stomach anymore like the aide, but it’d work for now.

“Go make sure everything in there is spotless. I mean it. Scorch the walls. We can never be too safe with these damn things.”

The shirtless man nodded. “Yes, sir,” and headed out.

Roles was still buttoning the top of the shirt as he followed the aide into the hallway.

“Hey!” Cora shouted, her eyes like hot coals.

The shirtless aide stopped and stared, unsure of what to do.

“You, go do what I told you,” Roles ordered, then glanced toward Cora. “Mrs. Winters, if you wouldn’t mind, I have a call to make with coastal defense, so—”

“No, you will talk to me right now.”

“Then perhaps we can have this meeting on the go.” Roles offered a friendly smile and gesture.

She stalked forward. “Do you know what that does to him?”

“No, but I can imagine.”

“It’s not right for you to ask him to do that. It’s not right to use him like that.”

“Right has little to do with winning wars.”

“If you ever attempt to contact Eli again, I’ll tell John and have you deposed.”

Roles looked at his watch again. “Look, we really have to wrap this up so let’s cut to the chase. At the moment, I have no need to talk to Eli. But if I do, I will contact him again. If you think you have to tell the president, then go ahead and do it now. I don’t think you will, though.” Roles said, meeting her eyes. “My guess is that you’d be worried about what he’d say.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about my husband.”

“Mrs. Winters, my job is all about knowing people. And I can see the words on his lips.” Roles finished putting the jacket on as he grabbed the handle to the door.

He looked back to her.

“All hands hold a rifle.”

6

THE UNSEASONAL CHILL kept biting at John Winters, causing him to pull up his collar.

It seemed everything had teeth these days.

“They’re approaching now, sir,” an officer said.

John nodded and leaned back on a jeep. The cerbo-lift on his knee buzzed from the movement. It helped keep him upright but didn’t do much for the pain.

But hell with it. The leg pain and the cold air helped clear his head.

He needed it.

The smell of fresh asphalt was in the air. This had been a civilian runway just outside of the city, but it was refitted to accept military planes.

The fat-bellied Soviet high flyer on approach would be the first to land.

The skies had become treacherous. And somehow, the cronux had weaved themselves into the populace and gotten their Scions into position.

All civilian flights had been grounded, but military birds and government-sanctioned flights were still at work.

But there was a vid floating around on the net of a large passenger aircraft coming down and crashing into a building out west. God, John forgot the name of where. There were so many disasters these days it was hard to keep up with the particulars.

He did remember the death count being in the hundreds.

The most startling thing was the flash on the vid. It was just a speck out in the distance and then the plane went down.

A pile of burning wreckage and two hundred or more dead bodies was all that was left.

But John was sure that the crash did more damage than just that one plane.

They have us afraid.

That was right. They made them too paralyzed to move. And that meant goods didn’t cross state lines. But when the trucks and planes didn’t move, it built up like a clogged artery until the whole country died from a heart attack.

John let out a breath. It hadn’t come to that just yet, but it might soon be the case.

More, more, more. That’s what John needed.

More Ghosts.

More bullets.

More food.

More time . . .

A journalist sneezed and snapped John out of his spiraling thoughts. John gave him a glance.

“Don’t tell me you caught a bug,” he said.

“Oh no, sir, Mr. President. I’m just excited.” The journalist grinned, his camera in hand and at the ready.

John was sure he’d love to be snapping pictures already but the security insisted that he focus only on the meeting.

“I bet they’re going to be surprised,” the journalist said, chewing a piece of gum, his eyes a bit too eager. “Not everyday you get to shake hands with the president. It’s an exciting event.”

John grunted at that. “Not everyday you get to shake hands with Soviet generals either. Just make sure that picture is clear. The more people see us working together, the better.”

“Understood.”

John grinned, but in truth, he found the man irritating as all hell.

But he checked all the boxes.

Some of the press hadn’t.

We all bleed red.

It was unfortunate that he had to remind himself because there were some that he was sure had blood as black as coal.

It wasn’t those Soviets coming down in the plane, no—it was a few of the media personalities that kept railing about how he wasn’t a legitimate president because he wasn’t elected. Some morons had delusions of grandeur or misguided principles and thought John’s approach to the war and former enemy nations was traitorous.

It wasn’t just them either; even some of the congressmen that had survived the attack on Washington felt this same way.

“What kind of leader sends our weapons around the world when we’re fighting for our lives at home?”

It was like the dumb bastards couldn’t really wrap their heads around the situation. But he supposed they were just afraid. People reacted strangely when they were afraid. Some stand and fight.

. . . Others become screaming cowards.

John had the cowards arrested. Not all of them—just a few of the shittiest ones who couldn’t help but play politics despite everything going on.

Someone on his staff had warned him. “You can’t go locking up members of the media and the government because you don’t like them.”

But most of what held the government together was convention and tradition—not law.

And with martial law enacted, John’s signature on a few documents was all that was needed to settle that argument.

He was sure they’d call him a dictator. And if there ever did come a day where there was peace again, they might even hang him.

It was all an unlikely end, but one could hope.

For the peace that is, not the hanging.

But he’d tie the noose himself so long as they won the war and there was still a justice system alive to submit to, consequences be damned.

Until that day, though, anyone who wasn’t on board was an enemy of all of humanity, as far as John was concerned, and he didn’t trust anyone in the den of snakes of Washington politics.

John let out a breath, not quite so cold anymore. Somehow, thoughts of tyranny and hangings always got his blood pumping and warmed him up.

Hell with it. He was about to greet a team of Soviet generals and strategists to get a rundown on the Garin Doctrine for his staff, and the Soviets might be the only people in the world who hate the heads of Washington more than he did. Politics aside, the Soviets, for all their faults, had succeeded in turning the tides on the battlefield, so whatever experience they could offer would prove invaluable.

There was a roar in the distance as the jet neared. Newly planted orange lights lit up the runway and directed them down the path.

John’s legs went stiff with nervous tension. The security team had scoured the land and everything near it, but there was always that possibility that a Scion was somewhere waiting for his chance, or something else was ready to pop when the time was right.

Every walk outside was a roll of the dice, he supposed.

He let out an uneasy breath as the jet touched down with a screech of wheels and slowed. Several American military trucks drove up alongside it and escorted it down the runway.

An Air Force officer with glowing batons waved them in until it came to a stop.

The engines cut and John watched as a docking truck drove up to the aircraft and connected, providing a set of stairs for them to come down.

There was a hiss and pop as the door opened and a parade of formally dressed military officers exited. John didn’t know any of them—most of the high-ranking Soviet generals he had known were all since long dead in or shortly after the fall of Moscow, and were now replaced with whatever warm bodies they had on hand.

Ehh, don’t kid yourself, John, that’s a bad way to look at it, He thought. They’re winning their war, aren’t they?

John had made a request to have members of their command team speak with his, but the Soviets had offered one better, to send them in person. John had felt it a bit of a risk to take anyone of importance out of the field, but they insisted.

Good idea or bad, it didn’t matter now. The Soviet officers filtered down the stairs and began shaking hands with American officers.

John glanced at the journalist and pointed. “There's your picture.”

The man didn’t need a second notice. He snapped photos and moved in quickly.

John eased off the jeep he was leaning on and groaned mildly from the pain that shot up his leg.

The cerbo-lift fitted to his leg buzzed as it helped him walk.

“Let’s go and say hi,” John said, and several other military officials came with him.

Some of his officials here were given a list of guests so he would know who to talk to, but John had been too busy to so much as—

Wait.

He did recognize a face.

Sergei Garin, Grand Marshal of the Soviet Union, stepped out from the plane. John was sure of it on account of his synthetic black jaw. Garin closed his eyes to take a deep breath of fresh air.

“Did anyone know Garin was coming?” John asked, dumbfounded.

“No, sir,” a security officer on John’s flank answered with a shake of his head.

John stopped in his tracks when he made eye contact with Garin.

The Grand Marshal barked out something in Russian that seemed to make the seas part as the men all stepped out of the way. Even confused Americans took cue and made room.

The Grand Marshal stepped down onto the asphalt and stood up straight. Even from a distance, John felt like the man was half a foot taller than him.

Garin made a beeline toward John.

A few security officers closed in, but John patted one on the back.

“Let him through,” he ordered.

Garin came close, a stiff look on his face.

John straightened his leg down against the cerbo-lift and stiffened his back. “Grand Marshal, you’ve caught us surprised. Welcome to America.” He offered his hand for a shake.

Garin bellowed out a laugh and pushed past the hand to give John a hug and slapped him hard on the back.

John’s eyes shot open with surprise, but after a moment’s hesitation, he returned the gesture.

The reporter’s camera flashed as the other soldiers around them cheered.

Garin pulled back. “Mr. President. We have much to speak about.”

John flashed his eyes to the officer next to him. “Clear my schedule.” He looked back at Garin. “How do you like your coffee?”

ALL POMP and circumstance that may have accompanied such a meeting a few years ago was stripped away. Now, the two men and a small group of advisors sat nearby in lawn furniture. Garin had a translator at his side helping him with his understanding. It was unfortunate that the best John could offer Garin was a plastic fold-out table in a cold room fitted with a space heater. He’d made good on the cup of coffee, but hadn’t been able to prepare it to the Russian’s liking.

Garin was sweetening it himself by dousing it with vodka from a flask.

He made the same offer to John.

“No, thank you,” John said, holding up his hand.

Garin shrugged and dumped a bit more into his own before tucking it away.

“I hadn’t expected to see you here, Grand Marshal.”

Garin grinned and pointed a finger. “Nor I expected you at the tarmac, my friend. But let us dispense with titles. We both bleed red, yeah?”

John nodded. “All right, Sergei. We appreciate you sending men over here to give us a rundown. We aren’t faring as well as you.”

Garin grunted. “Of course. When we were trapped in Berlin, you sent aircraft and even your own daughter. This is a war of extinction, and we will all win or we will all die.”

“Well, Alice was there of her own accord, but I do appreciate it, though I think your time would have been better spent back home seeing to the war than here with me.”

“Da, but I did not come as a courtesy. There are things we need to discuss and some things need be said in person.”

“Yeah?” John asked. “What is it then?”

Garin took a drink of the coffee and swilled it in his mouth before he swallowed. He glanced to his translator and said a few words in Russian. The man leaned in and spoke quietly into Garin’s ear.

Garin grunted and locked eyes with John. “I come to tell you of the Archon. You know him, yes?”

“Of course, but not much.”

Garin watched him carefully for a few moments. “He’s . . . Ehh . . .” He glanced to the translator again and spoke Russian.

“An evil fucker,” the translator said.

Garin nodded and pointed at the translator. “Yes. Big fucker. Big problem for us for some time. But now, no. Now he’s a problem for you.”

“What are you talking about?” John asked, looking between Garin and the translator.

“He leave our continent. He come here,” Garin said, his voice flat and grave.

John had a momentary pause. “Our intelligence reports say he’s either in the Middle East or China.”

Garin spoke Russian again.

“The Grand Marshal says our reports were the same. We still had surviving intelligence assets in China and Iran, and both confirmed the Archon’s presence from time to time,” the translator said.

Garin nodded. “However, now, no more.”

“I don’t understand, what changed? How do you know he’s coming here?”

Garin turned to one of his officers and motioned. A woman in military dress with a red beret approached and handed over a datapad. Garin presented it.

“He told us . . .” he said as he set it flat in front of John and pressed the play button.

The vid buzzed to life and a mutilated man stood in the center frame. His arms were missing and his eyes and nose were only empty holes save for purple wisps waving and dancing from them. He barked out harsh words in Russian as his head rolled around on his shoulders.

An English translation scrolled across the bottom like bad late-night TV.

“I carry a message, my lord, the Archon’s words through me. Not for your ears but for all. He will leave your lands. He will cross the seas. He will take America.”

“The hell is this?” John stared, the mangled lips of the creature still moving and the text still scrolling. “Why would he even bother to tell you?”

Garin shook his head. “Why do they do any of the things they do? Madness, my friend.”

“Or some kind of strange intelligence play. I’m not sure what to do with this. If the Archon went out of his way to tell you what he was planning, then he certainly expected you to tell us. For whatever reason, this is the desired outcome.”

“Da, I had considered. To tell you may be to do what the enemy desires, but how could that be avoided? You see why I came to speak myself.”

“I guess so. Can I keep this?” John tapped on the datapad.

“Of course. But I didn’t come here to give that news only, my friend. I also came for a request.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“Your monsters—” Garin stopped and spoke Russian again.

“Your Ghosts,” the translator clarified.

Garin nodded. “If we know where the enemy is, then we know where he is not, and he will not be on our lands. We can seize this momentum to secure some needed territory.”

John sighed. “It’d be a hard sell, Sergei. We only spared one to the Europeans, and you said it yourself. The Archon’s on his way here. We’ll need everyone we can to stabilize the situation here before we can extend more help.”

“I suspected the answer,” Garin said as he set his drink down and leaned forward, clasping his hands together in front of him. “You will not stabilize the situation, my friend. They will eat you alive. I know. You see, much of our land in the Soviet Union is mountainous. It slows them down, but we also have wide, ehh, berths of flat, useless plains not fit for even farmland. No good for us, but perfect for a Mongol horse or German Panzer division to cross. We had to learn to find our . . .” He snapped his fingers and spoke Russian to the interpreter.

“Choke points,” the interpreter answered.

Garin nodded. “To choke them. Hold the enemy back.” He turned and spoke Russian again, but now the exchange went back and forth.

The interpreter nodded and looked to John. “The Grand Marshal says even now we, the Soviet Union, do not have a connected road system, but instead rely on rail. It spread throughout our territory, but we’ve been able to hold them off and cut into them. But you, Americans, you have much good land. Best in world. Nice interconnections. Perfect for roads and travel. Impossible to stop the spread.”

The interpreter looked back and Garin spoke to him once more and made a long, smooth gesture with his hand. The interpreter nodded tightly and translated.

“Your land is unlike our useless mountain ranges, you have nice, good flat farmlands. We have a chance to trap and hold them at the break points, but you do not. You cannot stop their force.”

“Their leak,” Garin cut in. “Drip, drip.” He made a gesture. “They always be coming. I’m a soldier, da? I know. When I was young I was at school, studying how to kill Americans since the first day I lace my boots. But, ah, you called for strategy, no? I will tell you strategy, then. We cannot attack the enemy here, so we will attack them there.”

John frowned. “In the Soviet Union?”

“No.” Garin shook his head and picked his drink back up. “We have a bomb.”

“I’ve got bombs, Sergei. What I don’t have are Ghosts.”

All the color drained from Garin’s face. “Not this bomb.” He made a fist and mocked an explosion. “Pow! This is big. The biggest. Black Dawn.”

“Black Dawn,” John said. “I remember that. It was a threat Grand Marshal Volkov made?”

Garin shook his head. “Was no threat. It was real. The project was decommissioned. But it is still good.” Garin nodded. “We have the bomb, but we need a gate. An active gate. We get the bomb into the gate . . . We take the fight to them. Do you have a gate?”

“Here? No. If there is one, we’re not aware of it.”

Garin frowned. “Then we must hold until we find it.”

John looked away. He rubbed the edges of the table as he considered.

“Maybe I do know a gate, but it’s not here ”

“Excellent, where then?”

John looked back to Garin. “Tell me, what do you know about Mars?”

7

RICK CARTER HAD a demon inside his brain. It whispered to him in words he didn’t know, but in a language he understood.

It was the hive mind.

Fifty six years old and retired, Rick felt like he’d given enough to his country and that he deserved to live out his twilight years in peace.

But then those things came.

And now, every time he turned on the TV, he watched the map grow a little more red.

It was like the map was bleeding, and with every update, he saw that those demons were creeping ever closer to his house.

To his daughters’ homes . . .

To the beds where his grandchildren slept . . .

There was only so much a man could do; sitting on his ass and waiting for them to come to him wasn’t one of them.

He’d kissed his wife goodbye, knowing chances were better than not that he wouldn’t survive even the first stage of the program he’d enlisted in. He’d had a tear-filled goodbye with his daughters and they begged him not to go.

But they couldn’t understand what it’s like to be a man like him. To see the world come crumbling down and not be able to do anything about it, to feel those fucking things creeping ever closer to his grandchildren every time he saw a map.

He’d worn the colors before when his country went to war . . .

But this time, it wasn’t just his country.

It was all of mankind.

Yeah, his children might not understand, but all hands hold a rifle . . .

Even old men.

He’d sat in the room as Secretary Roles spoke, his voice hitting like a hammer cutting stone.

“. . . then take a look to your left and to your right. If you survive, then those two are dead. For those who do survive, you will become something inhuman.”

Rick was old and he was slow, and when the secretary called for volunteers, he hadn’t been the first to stand, but he stood all the same.

The most terrifying moment of Rick’s entire life came when they had him strapped down in that cold room with a fresh wound slit across his bicep. They brought the canister out, and when they opened it, the little demon slithered out.

He remembered his breath catching in his throat, but the rest came as a blur.

Inhuman.

That was the word the secretary had used and Rick agreed.

He wasn’t a man anymore.

He was a Ghost.

There were no lies in what the secretary had told him.

His mind had become a battlefield and he struggled with the pull of the demons. A weight came on him like a stone around his legs drawing him down into a sea of voices and minds, all unique and countless while also firm and controlled.

And they all bled black.

But not Rick.

His blood was red.

And tormenting whispers or not, he’d been ready to deploy.

His mind wasn’t as sharp as it had been, especially with the distractions; his body wasn’t as quick as it once was, but his boots laced up just as nice; he had a power he’d never felt before.

It was a rainy day with thick, gray clouds weeping overhead. Rick walked on the black asphalt as soldiers in CAG formed up alongside him, their rifles firing away as they passed the dead and dying at their feet.

Rick had served his duty, but he hadn’t been infantry. He was never certified beyond basic CAG and he wore only that now. A vest with a helmet that muted all the outside sounds so he could focus on the voices within, and the officer in his ear.

“Still with us, Panther One?”

“Yes—I . . .” Rick shook his head trying to focus. “Just catching my breath.”

He reached his hand out and felt the corpses all around him. He felt the parasites stirring beneath their skin.

He squeezed his fist and took their lives, and some small whispers faded from the hive mind.

“Confirmed. Panther Two is closing in on your point. Hold your ground. Fleeing bogies inbound.”

“Con-confirmed,” Rick said, but felt his voice crack.

He twisted to look around the battered shells of broken houses. A wave of creatures came screaming through a yard.

The soldiers near him fired while Rick held his hand up.

A creature like a six-legged dog rushed at them, its mouth wide open. Rick twisted his hand and its spine cracked in two. Soldiers pumped it full of rounds. A wave of infected people came behind it and Rick threw his hand to the side. The first wave fell dead, tripping those that came behind them in a big pile.

An American soldier armed with Soviet flame gear came up front and let loose with the heat.

The thing that came next stretched the very limits of Rick’s mind.

It was a Harbinger.

A massive, multi-legged thing with claws like lobsters.

It snatched up one of the soldiers, and amidst gunfire and screams, it cut him in half.

Rick tested his will against the Harbinger, but he didn’t have the strength.

Instead, he took the others.

Rick gathered the infected men and they turned on the Harbinger.

With the firepower of the soldiers anchored by the infected, they put the Harbinger down, blowing off its legs until it collapsed and firing enough rounds to break its shell until the wet insides poured out and steamed in the fresh air.

The strain had been too much and Rick had gotten lost somewhere in his mind. When he finally woke back up, he was on his knees with a soldier shaking him.

He was shouting something, but Rick couldn’t hear him.

With dull, drunken movements, he reached over and clicked the open comms button.

“What’s it saying, Carter? What’s it saying?” the soldier asked.

Rick regained his focus and looked past them. The Harbinger’s head was long and loose, laying on the ground and mumbling words in some language that meant nothing to any of the soldiers.

But Rick didn’t have ears in this world alone. He also heard it speak in a language that had no words at all.

“He’s coming,” it said.

Rick felt a heavy weight fall upon him, a dark presence that hit like a tidal wave.

“Panther one, we’re getting a spike in your readings. Are you injured?”

Rick heard command rattling in his ear, but he was struggling to breathe. In the hive mind, he was sinking again. Lead weights were around his ankles and they were dragging him down into the deep dark.

“Panther one, do you read?”

Rick gripped his chest; it felt like a vise was squeezing him.

“Panther one?”

He winced hard as he heard the rifles around him open up, firing into the sky while soldiers screamed orders at one another.

Rick looked up, though he didn’t need to see it. He already knew what it was.

“Panther one, what is it? We can’t get a visual. What is it?”

“It’s him,” he whispered. “It’s the Archon.”

THE ARCHON WAS in a foul mood. He’d arrived in America, but still hadn’t found the boy.

He hid well, but there was still a scent.

The boy would step from the shadows and use his powers only to mask himself again too quickly.

The Archon was losing patience.

But there were others whose existence was heresy, and they were fools that did not hide, but instead walked openly in the dark with torch in hand.

It was a simple thing for the Archon to find them.

Powerful wings beat in the air and the Archon soared through the skies. Up at this distance—and though his eyes were sharp—the ground looked little more than specks. But he did not see with only his eyes, no—he felt the world and his minions beneath him.

He felt an apostate below him.

The Archon closed his wings and he began to fall.

He burned through the air with incredible speed and smashed into the ground with such force it threw the men around him into the air.

The Archon rose from the impact and sank his claws into the edge of the pit he created to climb out of it. He saw a man in armor crawling away, one leg completely gone and the other dragging uselessly.

The Archon paid him no mind as he stepped across another who lay dead.

A third soldier was on his back, trying desperately to sit up and lift his weapon, but the Archon swung his wing out and cracked off his head.

He moved past the others, dead or dying, and went to the apostate, flat against the ground in the same fashion of armor.

The Archon lifted him up, dug his claws into the helmet, and peeled it off with the screech of tearing metal.

The man inside gasped and shook as the Archon held him close.

“Where is the boy?” the Archon growled.

The man raised a shaky hand and the Archon felt a scratch of power clawing at his mind—no more than an irritation.

“Where is the boy?” he repeated with more insistence.

The man said nothing, but raised another hand with useless power.

In a flash of rage, the Archon turned and threw him into the air, far into the dark.

Where he landed was of no concern.

The Archon bent down and leaped into the air again and his wings opened.

The boy would reveal himself eventually . . .

The Archon knew he only needed to be patient.

Until then . . .

He would hunt more apostates.

8

MILES FIDDLED with his collar as he listened to various heads of state talk. He supposed it was important to dress up, but he always felt like a monkey in a suit when he had to dress to impress—well, other than the bow tie and button-up he typically went for on TV.

Goofy as all hell, but he made it work.

He always felt like those morons wearing ties and talking about Bigfoot took themselves a little too seriously.

That’s why he’d opted for the bow tie and mustache. It was a wink and a nod that said, We all know this is bullshit, right?

Problem was, that wasn’t really the case at all. People took him way too seriously, as was evident by the German finance minister, Mr. Something-or-other, giving him the rundown on troop strength and unit formation, like Miles had any idea about military matters. The man might as well have said it all in German.

“Let me get that in writing, mate,” he’d said. Better to pass that along to knowledgable parties than for anyone to expect Miles to do anything with it.

He supposed he had become more serious. The mustache was long gone and had given way to a scraggly, unkempt beard at some point, only to be clean-shaven now.

But the tie he had to wear—God help him—came off like an insecure lover more interested in strangling him to death if he wouldn’t return the appreciation.

Fate of the world aside, he still missed his trademarks.

“The fuck is my bow tie,” he mumbled as he pulled at the tie again.

“What’s that, Mr. Westwood?” the German finance minister asked, his eyebrows narrowed tight.

“Hell with it.” Miles dug at the tie with both hands and stripped it off, tossing it behind him. “What I aimed to say was I don’t believe our time’s best served discussing military strategy, mate. I know cock-all about it. You need a discussion on the creatures and their habits, then as sad as it is to say, I suppose I’m as much of an expert as anyone. But I want to assure you, again, that President Winters has no intention of withdrawing any military assets from Euro Command despite what you hear from some wankers in congress crying on the vids. In fact, he’s ordered his strategist here to use American power in defense of the Federation and her protectorates, so if that’s all we have?”

Moshe Sarrazin spoke up. “It’s not that we’re unaware of the situation in America. The country’s practically been cut in half with the eastern guard divided from the west and much of the highway system destroyed. We’re worried that strategists in the US might see more use for their resources there. We want to be sure you can advise the president on our situation here.”

Miles put up his eyebrows and made a show of looking at his watch. “Mate, I already told you not to worry about the wankers. And there’s no need to make the president more aware that you got them digging up your arse here. He knows the score. So I’ll repeat, President Winters is not recalling any units from Euro command. As far as he’s concerned, he’d like to keep us all around, so if that’s all there is left . . .” He grabbed his suitcase and gave a lazy salute.

“I’ve got a date with a German surgery team.”

STANDING at the glass of an observation deck overlooking surgery, Miles made a face.

“Does she have to stay awake?”

The hospital aide for the German surgery team shook his head and spoke with a light accent. “Nothing we could give her would put her out. I think the painkillers are useless too. She is tough, yeah?”

Miles took a step closer to look. The surgeons had cut deeper into her arm with medical hooks and clamps biting into her flesh, peeling it back and exposing the bone, muscle, and circulatory implants. Small wisps twirled and moved but reacted slowly.

Miles tapped on the glass as he looked back at the aide. “You krauts are going to scoop that shit out of there, right?” He pointed. “Little parasite bastard looks half dead already.”

“The room is quite chilled. It seems to dull the creatures. The goal is not to remove but to diminish their control. Ms. Winters has significant control herself. We only want the mechanized limb to be functional again. She has much of the original components, though sadly, they are of an older American design. Our technician believes he can accommodate the—umm—the unique design the Americans constructed.”

“Unique? That a kind way of saying shitty?”

“Your words, not mine, Mr. Westwood. We’re far too polite to say such things.”

“So long as she’s functional again, we’ll take her how we can get.”

“Perhaps you should not have cut off the arm in the first place. That seems the correct approach.”

“You telling me? Do I look like I know how to use a sword?” Miles asked. “Barely know how to handle my own cock, mate. Slips out of my knickers all the time. Dangerous sort of thing.”

The aide made a sour face and went to say something, but Miles’ phone buzzed.

He pulled it out and looked at the name.

Cora Winters.

“Hold that thought. We’ll finish discussing my cock a bit later.” Miles excused himself from the observation deck.

He hit the answer button.

“Cora? Everything—”

“Miles?” It was Eli.

Miles grinned. “Eli? How the hell are you, kid? Looking to get a hold of your mum?” He glanced back toward the observation room.

“No . . .”

“Ah yeah?” He turned from the door and stepped down the hall toward a window. “You called for me, then? I’m flattered, mate. They putting you into hard labor there?”

“Yes,” Eli said stiffly.

The tone caught Miles off guard and he straightened up. “Yeah? What do they have you doing?”

“He’s looking for me.”

“Who?” Miles stiffened his back.

“The Archon.”

“Mate, I don’t understand this stuff like you do. What do you mean he’s looking for you?”

“He keeps coming into my dreams . . .”

“So they’re nightmares?”

“Yes, but I’m awake.” Eli started to cry.

“I understand, kid, I understand,” Miles lied. “I can’t do much for you from across the pond, but here’s what I can do. I’m going to gather your mom and we’re going to head back over. She can help you. She gets it.”

“I want her help.” He was sobbing now. “But she won’t let me in.”

The pain in Eli’s voice squeezed Miles’ heart.

“We’re patching her up right now, Eli. And when she’s done, I’m going to tell her to call you right away.” Miles looked at his watch and tried to do some math in his head, but he wasn’t thinking clearly. “When do you usually go to bed? I’m not sure what time it is.”

“I don’t sleep.”

“Kid, you have to sleep. You need to—”

“No I don’t. I don’t need to sleep. Not at all. And I don’t want to anyway. When I close my eyes, he comes. I keep hiding, but he keeps coming.”

“I get it. Where’s your gran at, Eli? I need to talk with Cora.”

“She’s not here.”

“Where is she, then?”

The aide stuck his head outside the door and looked down either way until he saw Miles. “Mr. Westwood! It is completed. She’ll be coming out soon.”

Miles nodded and waved a hand at the man.

“Eli, they just told me she’s coming out soon. Here’s what I need you to do, kid. Take a deep breath and go get yourself some water. If Granny Cora is around, have a sit with her for a few minutes. I’m going to collect your mother and give you a call soon, got it, mate?”

“Yes.”

“Listen, kid . . . I love you, mate. We’re going to take care of you, okay?”

“Okay. Love you too. Bye.”

“Bye.” Miles waited for Eli to hang up. He let out a heavy breath and braced himself against the wall. Adrenaline pumped through his veins.

He started back to the room and stuck his head in.

“Should be but a few more minutes,” the aide said with a nod.

Miles approached the glass and saw Alice sitting in a chair, a new arm attached, and speaking with the technician as she opened and closed her fingers.

Miles let out a sigh of relief before looking back at the aide. “Hey, I figured my Japanese friend would have stopped by here for this. Did he come in earlier before I got here?”

The aide frowned and shook his head. “No, a few inquisitive viewers, but not your friend.”

Miles huffed. “You said a few more minutes?”

“Perhaps five? Maybe ten if there are any complications.”

“Got it. I’ll be back in a few, then.”

“Oh, don’t you want to see them lay on the synthetic skin? That’s my favorite part!”

“I’m sure it’s a lovely experience,” Miles said as he hurried from the room. He went down the hall, found the stairs to the main lobby, and crossed it to the hotel rooms. He checked the numbers until he got to one hundred and eight, which he was fairly sure was Endo’s.

He knocked and waited.

There was no answer.

“Why does this shit keep happening to me?” Miles groaned as he knocked again.

Still no answer.

Miles turned on his heels and whispered to himself, “If I find him in the cafeteria again, I swear . . .” He headed in that direction when he passed the stairs. He stopped and turned around, looking again at the stairs for a few moments before hustling up them.

He went all the way to the top and was unsure if the rooftop access door would even be unlocked. But when he hit it, it opened and he stepped out.

Endo was there at the ledge with one foot up and watching the sunset.

“Hey! Ninja boy, you didn’t hear the news?” Miles called with some irritation as he walked out. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about turning yourself in again like back in Germany. I thought we were over that shit.”

Endo turned to look, but this time he was grinning.

“No, I’m not.” He waved a hand toward the sun. “I only wanted to see the sunrise.”

Miles peered out that way. “Yeah, I suppose it does beat that sterile stench down below.”

Endo nodded and turned to look again. He held up a tube of medicine and drained it all into his mouth. He sighed after and watched the sun. “Miles, I’ve seen many sunrises in my life, but I’ve enjoyed very few. But this one . . . It means something to me.”

Miles came up alongside him and patted him on the back. “That’s swell, mate. Wait until you’re doing it with a lovely lady at your side. Trust me, it adds a lot of flavor.” He grinned.

Endo laughed under his breath. “Miles? You were right. You are my friend. Perhaps my first. But I still find you to be fairly annoying.”

Miles laughed too. “The greatest friends always are.” He trailed off and watched the sunrise with Endo. “All right, mate. You soak it up here and meet us downstairs. Me, though? I’m going to go see how our girl’s new fingers work.”

ALICE THANKED the team and headed out of the room. Her mechanical arm was smooth, but odd. It felt . . .

Weak.

She didn’t care. She wanted it off, and this was the best she could do.

When she stepped out, she saw Miles grinning at her.

“Ms. Winters,” he said with his arms spread wide. “Now that you’re back to being one piece, I think it’s time to get you on a plane to the States. You’ve got some asses to kick.”

Alice tipped her head. “Arrange the flight and I’ll make it. I just need to grab my bag.”

Miles took a step closer and thumbed behind him. “Our samurai friend is up on the roof taking in the view. He’s all Mr. Sensitive at the moment. Apparently cutting off an arm or two can do that for you. How’s that new arm feel anyway?”

She looked down at her hand and turned it over back and forth.

“Better.”

Miles nodded. “Good to hear. But before we go any further, I should tell you, Eli called me. He’s looking for you.”

Alice snapped her eyes toward Miles. “Eli called you?”

“Yeah. He wants you to call him.”

Alice skewed her face and shook her head. “I can’t. Not yet.”

An honest look of surprise appeared on his face. “You can’t?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Everybody keeps saying that.” Miles threw his hands out to his sides. “Listen, he needs you.”

“I know he needs me,” Alice shot back, her words sharp. “I told you, you can’t understand.”

“There’s a lot I can’t understand, but you haven’t heard his voice, Alice. He’s afraid.”

“You think I’m not afraid? Eli visits me but my mind is a big hole, and if he comes in, he could sink into it. He might never get out.”

“I’m just asking you to make a phone call. I don’t know anything about mind holes, I barely know anything about my own holes.”

“Miles, I had something unimaginable inside me. I had it in my body. In my brain. In my soul. It’s still eating me alive. I don’t even know how to be a mother with that shit in my head.”

Miles took a deep breath. “I talked with him just before. He told me the same thing. The Archon’s after him. Coming into his dreams.” He took another step closer to Alice. “Now, I’d love to have a talk with him and ask him what’s going on. I’d love to tell him what to do, but you know what? You’re right. I don’t know a thing about what the fuck it is either of you are going through. I don’t know what it means when you say he visits you. I don’t know what it’s like to have a hole in your soul. But hearing his voice terrified me. I don’t know what any of this means, but you do and he does.”

Miles dug his phone out of his pocket and opened it up. He found the contact: Cora. “He’s waiting. Now, I’ve already made arrangements, our plane leaves in two hours, so I’m going to go grab my bag. But you . . .” He held his phone out to her. “Call your son.”

MILES BOARDED the jet and half considered turning and giving a two-fingered salute to France just for being French.

Never did like the frogs.

The jet looked far emptier than it had on the way over. He stretched and yawned. He hadn’t realized how bad the jet lag was until he saw a nice seat to lounge in.

Sure, global extinction was a total possibility, but at least flying in a private jet meant a reclining chair with legroom.

Miles rubbed his eyes, went to the overhead storage bin, and popped it open to stow his luggage. He turned around and nearly shat himself.

Endo was standing close by.

“Miles,” he said with a tip of his head.

“Bloody hell, mate, we’re going to have to put a bell on you. The hell you doing that for?”

“Doing what?” Endo asked as he moved to a seat on the opposite wall and opened up the overhead storage himself.

“You know what, you twat, sneaking up on me like that.”

“No idea what you mean,” Endo said.

Miles stared for a moment before he shook his head and grinned. “You’re going to make me regret telling you to take that stick out of your arse, aren’t you? Might ask you to put it back in if you keep it up.”

Endo chuckled as he loaded his bag into storage.

“You didn’t, uhh . . .” Miles peeked over his shoulder. “You didn’t see Ms. Winters, did you?”

“I don’t keep as close an eye on her as you seem to think I do.”

“I’m just wondering if she threw my phone down the rubbish bin or not. I told her to call her son. I may have been a bit of a prick about it, but I don’t know the polite turn of phrase for such situations. Do you think—”

“She’s here,” Endo said.

Miles looked over his shoulder again and a second later, Alice stepped onto the plane.

He snapped back to Endo. “How do you keep doing that?”

Alice entered, a cold look on her face. She glanced toward Miles and Endo but moved toward the back of the plane.

Miles winced when her back was turned and whispered to Endo, “Not a good sign for my phone, is it?”

Endo didn’t bother looking at him as he nestled into the seat. “She can hear you. Ears sharp as a cat.”

Miles made a face again and looked toward Alice but she wasn’t looking his way.

“Are you winding me up?” Miles asked.

Endo shrugged.

Miles sighed and took a seat. “It’s going to be a long flight.”

9

THEY TOLD Moller that they had fixed the ventilation, but apparently someone either had a bad sense of smell or was milking the government pay, because it reeked like an old man’s fart deep in the bunker. The stench followed her wherever she went to the point where she wasn’t altogether certain it wasn’t coming from her.

The thought of it being some failed organ inside her rotting up a stench was a wholly implausible possibility, but her mind still ran with it and she asked Marat to sniff her on her lunch break.

“Is it me?” she’d asked.

Marat leaned in and took a whiff. “You smell of sweat and frustration, but not old man fart.” He’d skewed his face. “It makes me horny.”

At least he was honest.

She ordered another bar of deodorant for her morning shower.

The worst thing about the stench was that it brought her back to her time on the Perihelion—being locked up in space with so many men never did smell right.

God, that was ages ago—practically several lifetimes ago. She hadn’t thought about it in a long time.

No, that wasn’t true.

She thought about her boyfriend from time to time—Elliot Cameron. He was the piece of shit that nearly got her killed.

God only knows what happened to him.

She assumed he died up there hiding in some little corner or another like a rat.

But Felicity wasn’t the last time she’d seen him.

She’d gone on a special forces mission into the Soviet Union, and there . . .

Well, it was probably just a trick of the mind, but she thought she’d seen his face inside the sludge creature they’d found.

Oh, what the hell was she thinking about all this for?

She shook her head and looked at her watch.

Thirty minutes until arrival.

Moller pressed a finger to her ear. “Sitrep,” she ordered.

A voice came in through her headset. “Drop ship on schedule. Skies clear. Ghost reports no threatening hostiles at the moment. You want me to pull you on to mission control?”

“No, keep Kings in place. He needs to get a feel for things.”

“Confirmed.”

The voice went silent and Moller took a breath.

Ahh, there was that smell again.

“Ah, dammit,” she hissed. As soon as she was preoccupied, she’d forget about it, but the second she wasn’t focused, it came back.

She supposed there were worse things to be thinking about.

A dark feeling rolled over her. She had been on command, watching through the headset when the Archon, or something that looked close enough to him, landed on site and killed a Ghost team.

It was the first time she’d seen it but not the first time it had happened.

They were being targeted.

Moller took a moment to look around her and saw the command room buzzing with life and various teams set up for operations. There were so many running at once now that she had to reorganize the command and control structure and train new people to manage the Ghosts alongside her while she focused on priority missions and project management.

She didn’t get much sleep, but she still had to take a few moments to herself from time to time.

She stepped off the deck in the center of the room and headed to the bathroom. It was a single unisex room, which meant it had men shitting in it most of the time.

Moller pushed the door open and stepped inside, locking it behind her.

Something seemed off. She stopped and took a deep breath.

Then another.

She snorted out a laugh.

This was the only room that didn’t smell terrible, strangely enough.

“Fire the maintenance guy and give the janitor a raise,” she mumbled as she walked over to the sink. She sprayed some soap into her hands and rubbed them under the water, anything to keep her mind busy until the operation started.

But the sink groaned before spitting out the water and it half sounded like a scream.

A scream just like the Ghost’s.

Moller had been watching through his headset when the Archon landed in the room. Everything started moving so it was hard to see, but he killed everyone in the area faster than she could have possibly imagined.

He was there and gone before anything else could be done.

Somehow, the bastard had been seen all over the country. It was as if that god-awful thing was hiding jet engines beneath its wings.

“How the fuck is it even possible?” She made a fist under the water and squeezed her hand tight.

Focus. Focus.

Sometimes, it was hard to pull her mind out of the mud.

She exhaled and leaned forward, but something inside her violently tightened. She groaned as she squeezed her side. It felt as if her intestine wrapped over what functioned as her liver these days and put it in a choke hold.

“Yeah, they do odd things while they settle,” the doctor had told her.

She hissed out breath as she stuck her fingers into her side and massaged them around. She had no idea if that would do anything, but it always seemed to help.

She’d need a scan at some point, but it was hard enough to find time for sleep let alone schedule medical appointments.

She leaned against the wall and swallowed deep breaths as it loosened up.

This was how the rest of her life was going to be.

But there was no use crying over spilled milk or knotted intestines, was there?

She straightened up, clicked off the lock, and headed out.

She was two steps out the door before she hit her comms.

“Patch me to communications,” she ordered.

“Confirmed,” the voice replied.

A second ticked past and another voice answered.

“Director, this is communications speaking,” a woman said.

Moller stepped up to the command deck, which put her above everyone else in the room. She scanned across it as she spoke.

“I want activity progress on our operations.”

“All operations are reporting in and there are no level two concerns. The next op up will be yours, Director.”

“Confirmed, and status on Denver?”

“Checking Denver now, Director.” Moller could hear clicks as the officer went through systems. “We’re reporting all clear. The call order is still in effect. They’ll report any trouble and we’ll alert you, Director.”

“Confirmed. Signing out,” Moller replied and hit her button. She grabbed the handrail around the command deck and steadied on it as she looked out. Her stomach stirred again.

Could be her intestines playing lasso again or maybe . . .

Nerves.

She twisted her head. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for command after all. She couldn’t get her nerves under check.

How the hell does Roles do it?

She had to wonder. He always looked like he was bored or irritated.

She stepped back and walked through the aisles, watching as officers and operatives had their faces glued to vid screens and gave orders through headsets.

She watched a Ghost hold up her hand and kill a mob of infected. She trailed past another few and was about to turn on her heels and head back when the voice buzzed again.

“Director, your operation is reporting unsafe weather conditions and is requesting a change in flight scheduling. Their new ETA will be sixty minutes.”

Moller took in a deep breath as she pressed the button.

“Approved, but keep me updated.”

“Confirmed, ending communications,” the voice said and clicked off.

Moller walked past the operations and down the hall toward where Marat was working.

She could hear by commotion that the intelligence group put together for Marat’s plans were all bitching at each other again, but that was a daily occurrence.

Marat had that effect on people.

She went to the edge of the door and peeked in. Marat was standing near a table and pointing down at a large table-length graph sheet with wavelengths.

Moller was hardly an idiot—she’d been top of her class—but Marat was something else.

He was a genius.

And he was also an asshole.

“Sensitive. Sensitive Americans! You fuck taste,” he cursed at one of the men around the table who looked confused.

Moller snorted at how stupid he sounded, but doing that made one of her lungs flutter and she winced. She imagined a screw bolting it all to her spine coming loose, but it cleared up a second later. She’d forgotten the list of shit they’d replaced in her.

Pain aside, she was still curious about Marat. Somehow—he thinks anyway—he worked out how certain energy readings could help them pinpoint where the Scions were.

It was all Greek to Moller, but the reasoning seemed sound enough.

However, Marat seemed to be having trouble growing a consensus with the other analysts.

“You,” he said, gripping his hair. “You fat beef. It’s here. Here.” He tapped on the map.

Moller finally cleared her throat as she entered the room. “Where’s my target?”

A senior analyst with gray hair and a loosened tie gave her a look. “Mister . . .” He looked around. “Is it even mister? What the hell is this guy’s rank again?”

Another sighed. “He doesn’t have one. Therein lies the problem. Director, we don’t know him and he doesn’t have any experience in this kind of work, but he’s trying to tell us where to deploy a Ghost team. We need these teams in the suburbs of Chicago, not out in . . .” The guy waved his hand dismissively and looked at Marat.

“Ross, Ohio,” Marat said.

“Where the hell is Ross, Ohio?” the gray-haired man asked.

“It’s in Ohio,” Marat responded.

The other looked back at Moller. “See, I don’t know when he’s fucking with me or when he’s being serious.”

“He’s an outside expert and an analyst brought in under the presidential directive. Now, tell me about Ross, Marat,” Moller said.

He gestured toward the map. “This energy readings are unusual. There is great pulse here. I think they building the Scions here.”

“How would they even move them from there to somewhere else?” one man asked.

“I don’t know all things! But here.” Marat put his finger down on one of the wavelengths. “Send in a team and see.”

One of the other men threw up his arms. “These readings aren’t even matching your own code patterns you had us on before.” The man snatched up a readout and underlined the code.

“We’ve already killed a few Scions based on his observations,” Moller said.

“In the field, but he’s saying there’s a nest here.” A woman in glasses shook her head. “If we deploy a team out there, that means we have to pull one off of Chicago. We’re talking about risking a Chicago suburb over this. You willing to do that?” She glanced at Marat.

“Yes,” Marat said and shoved over to the man with the readout. He snatched the pen out of his hand and underlined it three more times. “The numbers talk. There is not one frequency. There are many. They . . . collide.” Marat wore a shit-eating grin.

Moller had heard everything she needed. She hit her comms.

“Communications, is Kings currently on mission?”

“No, Director. He’s on observation duties.”

“Reassign my upcoming mission to him, and find me a team in Chicago with access to air transport.”

“Confirmed. What are their new orders?”

“Tell them we’re moving out.”

CASSIE MONROE HAD BEEN in the shit since week one. She’d been up in New York before the big pop that saw the war spreading all over the country, but now she was fighting in the Midwest.

When they first told her that her team was reassigned and being given a Ghost, her first question was, “What the hell is a Ghost?”

The next question she had when she saw the sickly, drugged-out junkie that they loaded onto her team was, “Why the hell would anyone want to be on a team with this?”

That all changed when she saw him raise his hand and the creatures turned on each other. It was like he flipped a switch in their brains and told them how delicious they all were.

Monroe had stood there in wide-eyed amazement as a group of creatures ate each other alive until there was nothing left to move.

And the Ghost?

He looked glazed the entire time.

Sometimes when they were riding in their armored personnel carrier, she’d see him rubbing his head and complaining about migraines. But there were no complaints when he was out the door. When it was time to kick some heads in, his bony ass was right on target.

She’d deployed with him eighteen times now, and it had gotten to the point where she felt like he was her own personal bulletproof jacket.

That didn’t mean he didn’t give her the creeps, though.

When her team was back on base and ready to sleep, they’d either redeploy him with another team or he’d just sit in his bunk and stare at the wall. The way he talked always weirded her the hell out too. It sounded like he was out of breath, like he just got done running a marathon. And the way his eyes were always wide and never blinking. It made her want to sit one of the psychologists down and tell them, “Look, could you just work on getting him to blink and we can build from there?”

But what the hell did she know? She was good with a rifle, but he could eat their souls or whatever.

Still . . .

He didn’t sleep, and as far as she could tell, he didn’t shit or eat either.

But neither did her rifle, so hell with it.

They were a strike team, which meant they often were deployed in full CAG with little or no support except their Ghost, and Monroe figured that was enough.

They were on mission now, deep in some booze town that had long since been deserted. The population got wise and moved out before the horde came in, or they got eaten when it did roll through. She saw enough broken doors and smashed windows on the houses to know anyone that had decided to hole up hadn’t outlived their bad decisions.

As always, they deployed in a ten-man team and kept the Ghost in the center with two on rear guard, three on point, and the rest on their flanks.

“I don’t think there’s shit here,” she said as she kicked a turned-over trash can.

“Just keep your eyes open,” her team leader’s voice buzzed over the comms as they moved down the road.

“It’s here,” the Ghost hissed, still sounding like he was out of breath. “I can feel it.”

Monroe’s skin goosed up like it always did when he started yapping. She made a face but was glad it was under her CAG helmet.

They made their way into an abandoned energy facility. The whole place looked like it was eaten up just weeks before. Light peeked in through broken windows and the shattered roof, but left most of it in shadows.

“Get your lights on,” the team leader ordered.

She snapped on her rifle light and flashed it into the room.

There was blood splashed about, but that was it. She imagined whatever had been here had gone through and licked up any fleshy pieces that had been left behind. That, or they got up and walked away, which was something the dead tended to do these days.

“Got something here!” a soldier called out and pointed at a massive hole in the ground.

“You getting anything?” the team leader asked the Ghost.

The sickly bastard made a face and took a few steps toward the hole. They all stood motionless as the Ghost stared at the hole.

“What’s he doing?” someone asked.

“Shut up, let him think,” the team leader ordered.

The Ghost pointed a finger. “They’re hiding inside.”

“Monroe, you heard’em. Frag and flare it. Everyone else, get prepped, we’re going in.”

Monroe grabbed a frag and a flare out of her pouch. She pulled the pin and threw it down the hole. “Frag out.” She cracked the flare and threw it next, then took cover behind a broken piece of wall.

There was an explosion and the soldiers shouted as they headed in. There were creatures inside, but they barely put up a fight as the Ghost came in and held his hand, strangling their will to fight. The flare painted the whole room with a green glow, etching dark shadows on the walls of things with long arms and oversized heads.

Monroe found them with her rifle as the rest of the team cut them down.

In the corner of the room was another smaller hole, twice as big as a man would need to crawl through.

The Ghost pointed. “It went in there.”

The team leader moved to the hole and shined his light in. The tunnel seemed to break off into several paths—at least that’s how it looked from what Monroe could see.

She watched him, feeling the tension rise up in her throat. “You’re not going to make me crawl my ass in there, are you?”

“Shit on that,” he said. “Not unless you want to strip off your CAG so you can move. What's the call, can we blow it out?” he asked the Ghost.

He shook his head. “It’s long gone.”

“Dammit,” the team leader cursed. “Monroe, call it in.”

“Confirmed,” she said and toggled a switch on her gauntlet. “Base command, this is Alpha team, do you read?”

“This is base command, base team. Go ahead.”

“There was a nest, but the Scion got away. They have some kind of tunnel. The intel was good on target, though.”

“Can you say again, Alpha team? Intel was on target?”

“Intel was on target, base command. Tell you what, get us another location and we’ll get boots on the ground. Feels good to hunt those fucks than the other way around.”

10

THERE WAS yellow oil rolling out of Erkin’s helmet, specifically from the functioning eye camera.

If he remembered correctly, it was wired directly into his frontal lobe.

“It’s bleeding again,” he said to the man crying on the floor. He wiped his fingers through it and then rubbed them across his pants. “I forget what I’m supposed to do about it. A team is supposed to drain the rotten shit from my cranium from time to time, but I killed all of them.”

“Please, please, I’m on your side!” the man begged.

“You think interrupting me makes me more interested in keeping you around?” Erkin tipped his chin up. He had let the creatures eat a few of the governor’s wives already.

He supposed he’d been a tad angry. He’d expected to find this governor inside his mansion, but the coward dug into a military bunker, taking the better part of three days to dig it completely out.

Erkin sniffed and made a face.

And it smelled like someone shit on themselves. That was irritating too. He didn’t need to breathe, but it happened sometimes when he spoke.

“Is that smell coming from you, or one of them?” He waved his hand toward two of the dead women who were already starting to stir with new life as the parasites took hold.

It wasn’t just the smell or the sniveling coward that was irritating Erkin, no—a deep, intense migraine was setting in too. Each day it seemed to reach just a little deeper into his head.

He rubbed the part just beneath the dome again. It didn’t help much, because the dome itself housed most of his head.

Sometimes, he considered opening it, if only to let the rotten juice out and ease the tension building up, but what if he couldn’t put it back together and he went walking around with his brains dangling over his shoulder?

Wouldn’t that just look ridiculous?

He burst out laughing.

“Maybe should have spared a few technicians,” he said as he turned toward a beast standing alongside him. It sat on bent legs with large, jutting elbows and a long, snaking head with a waxy humanlike face.

“Shoulda spared . . .” it moaned, accompanied by a haunting grin.

Erkin rubbed it under its chin like a close, personal pet.

“You think they’d have some in Beijing?” he asked the beast.

“Bey-jing,” it mindlessly purred with its hollow voice as it closed its eyes and tilted its head toward his finger.

Erkin continued to stroke its head as he pointed a finger at the governor. “You. I’ve forgotten how many of you there are left. You see, things, they just . . . They slip away from me these days.” He motioned toward his face. “It's because of what you did to me.”

The man came up off his knees, holding his hand out defensively. “I-I didn’t do anything to you.” He glanced between Erkin and the wives who were coming to their feet. One was missing an arm and the other had her back torn open. It made her stand awkwardly.

“Maybe not. But it doesn’t matter because you would have. It’s people like you who do whatever they want to whoever they want whenever they want. You’re all such selfish, pitiful, evil little children. Do you know how freeing it is to be away from all of that? To be with something so unselfish that it barely cares about its own existence?” He smiled, showing his teeth, and gestured to the two women as they stepped closer to him. He put his arm around one and pulled her in tight. He gave her a kiss on the cheek, but she paid no mind. She only kept a haunting fixation on the governor.

“Please, I can help you—”

“No thank you,” Erkin said with a polite grin.

He pulled his arm from the woman and two others burst forward, screeching.

The governor put his hands up and his wives grabbed him and pulled him down. He fought and thrashed as they bit him and inserted the parasites.

Erkin watched. He’d hoped the mild entertainment may have relieved his migraine, but it did not.

Killing rarely gave much relief these days.

He ground his teeth together and felt the blood ooze between his jaws.

The infested women moved away from the governor as he, too, began to reawaken; but that did little for the pain in Erkin’s head.

He didn’t know what would give him relief, but he did have a guess at what was making the migraines worse.

“I told Zhao not to make any more Dragons . . . I told him,” Erkin said as he headed back toward the elevator to the surface. “But he did anyway.”

He could feel them—the nasty little fuckers—clawing into the hive mind, filling the entire place up. Evil little worms that were stealing power that didn’t belong to them. They were all fat and dumb, stomping around and knocking things over while more and more popped up each day.

Zhao’s new little army.

Erkin could feel them, and soon, he’d find them.

ZHAO CROSSED his legs and leaned back on a couch. He held a datapad in one hand.

In the corner of the screen, a nervous-looking woman with stark-white traditional makeup watched on while in the center of the screen a man with a hood was stood up by a group of soldiers against a battered concrete wall.

The vid was coming through from a soldier’s helmet cam.

“Acknowledged. Orders received. Take aim,” the soldier said and looked down the line to see ten more regular soldiers with low-grade, open-face CAG aiming at the man.

“Fire.”

There was a stark flash of light as the screen lit up and the man in the hood was peppered with rounds before collapsing.

Zhao scratched under his chin, but otherwise didn’t react.

The woman cleared her throat. “Emperor Zhao, I feel that—”

“Chairman,” Zhao corrected. “Not emperor. I do not intend to hold this office for life, and I am not divinely appointed.”

“Of course. Chairman. I once again want to assure you of my loyalty and apologize for the misunderstandings that have occurred. I will not make such errors again.”

“Of course.” Zhao kept watching through the screen as the officer approached the dead man. He turned him over onto his back and pulled the hood off.

“Orders confirmed. Executed. Taking DNA sample for official records,” the officer said as he pulled out a knife. He shifted the governor's head to the side and grabbed his ear.

Zhao placed his finger on the screen and shifted it away, making it slide out of view. The woman on screen was visibly shaken and let out a strained breath as her screen now expanded to fill the void.

“I’m glad you’ve seen the errors of your way, Governess. I hope you understand that now is not the time for a change of leadership. Not with all of China at risk. We need to put petty ambitions aside. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She bowed her head. “Of course, Chairman. You are wise and correct.”

“Then I expect grain shipments to begin again, and I both acknowledge and congratulate you on your loyalty by imposing such strict dietary restrictions on your own people so that the People’s Army will march with full stomachs.”

“All that I have, and all that I am, I give to the People’s Republic.”

Zhao glanced at his watch. “I am sure you are busy. Please take care.” He pressed the close button just as she was readying to say something else.

He had another meeting starting in a moment.

He slid the datapad onto a table, as the next meeting would be done at his desk. He stood to stretch his legs before it all began. He folded his hands behind him and paced.

He’d missed both breakfast and lunch, and his stomach growled, but food would have to wait.

This was important.

He looked at the black screen on his desk. Any minute now, he would receive a call.

News was coming of the success rate from the Dragon program out of Korea.

But a minute passed.

And then another.

It was not proper etiquette for him to make the call; he was only to receive it.

Zhao stood still and watched the screen with cold eyes.

Nothing.

He moved to the desk and pressed a button. The screen rose up off the desk, extending from bars hidden in the wood and coming to him at eye length.

He would not sit for this meeting.

He pressed a call button on the screen. “Connect me with the General Secretary of Korea.”

“Right away, sir,” a voice responded.

A call box opened on the screen and it flashed as it awaited an answer.

There was a loud, satisfying chime as the call was received, but the vid didn’t connect.

Instead, in the center of the screen were thick, white words.

NO VISUAL.

“Chairman,” came Kim’s voice with a grunt.

Zhao stared at the screen with some irritation. “Why is your screen turned off?”

Kim grunted again. He was breathing hard as he spoke. “I’m with a woman, Chairman. I’ll spare you the sight.”

Zhao’s lip lifted in disgust. “What is the status of the Dragon program? Did you implement the American’s techniques?”

Kim took a deep, exhausted breath. The screen flipped on and Kim’s face was close, though he was clearly shirtless. A bare-chested, beautiful woman lounged in the bed near him, her body in open display.

“Yes, we have. The Americans claimed a thirty percent success rate, but we barely achieved fifteen!” He rubbed sweat off his face with the back of his hand. “The Americans are lying to you, and after we shared our intelligence!”

“You had a fifteen percent success rate, when before it was around one percent. Clearly they didn’t lie, but the technicians lack experience. I expect it will improve.”

“Improve? Of course. The fault is not with my technicians. It’s with your Qian, your program specialist.”

“Speak clearly, Kim.”

“He’s bold when he should be hesitant. He’s slow when speed is required.” Kim blinked hard and wiped his face again. “The man is an idiot and we’ve removed him. I expect a higher success rate in the next batch.”

“Where is Dr. Qian?” Zhao asked, his voice cold and biting.

Kim hesitated. “I’ve dismissed him. He should be in Beijing now, but the coward may have run. Perhaps he fears retribution for his failure. We hear stories even here, Chairman. Stories about what you’ve done to those you deem an enemy. Such things cause others to make rash decisions.”

“I ask again, Kim. Where is Dr. Qian?”

Like a dull-faced child, Kim looked away as if trying to think. He looked back at the screen. “You have many traitors these days, Chairman. Few, like us, remain loyal. Perhaps Dr. Qian is not as loyal as you once thought, like many such governors. But we remain loyal, and we ask that such loyalty be rewarded for enduring the test.”

“Tell me how many Dragons I now have.”

Kim looked away again. “Five Dragons. We will send them to you tonight.”

“Five, when you first claimed a fifteen percent success rate?”

Kim considered his answer, but Zhao didn’t give him time.

“With a class of eighty, you should have had twelve positive cases. Explain where the other seven are.”

Backed into a wall, Kim’s face twisted into anger. He turned behind him and slapped the nude woman on the leg and called out some hostile words to her in Korean.

She stood quickly, bowed to him, and moved off.

“You come to my land and demand I speak your language. You place your scientist in charge of my program and run the tests on my people. You speak my name without my title. And now you demand all the results? Yes, I have twelve, Zhao, and I have humbly agreed to send you five. The others will stay with me to do as I see fit. They are, after all, of Korean blood.”

“You have spoken with the Governor of Hubei.” It wasn’t a question, but an accusation.

“Yes.” Kim’s voice was now fiercely brave. “And he offered me a level of respect and generosity you’ve never given me.”

“I will have them all,” Zhao stated, not as a request but as a fact.

Kim grew flustered and pointed at the camera. “You will have none! You are a dead man, Zhao! A dead—”

Zhao pressed the button disconnecting the vid.

He pressed the call button again.

“Connect me with Gray Fox.”

11

JOHN WAS GOOD AT MATH. You had to be when managing resources.

Numbers flew through his head. Tons of unprocessed ore shipping across state lines to be manufactured into war goods. Grain shipments undocking from ports in Savannah, Georgia and heading to Spain to relieve the growing food shortages while the German wheat fields burned and their silos were overrun.

And oil . . .

Lots and lots of oil.

An offshore drilling engineer fell into a well after being worked practically to death. The rest of the crew protested and John dispatched the military.

He’d make them work at gunpoint if he had to.

Those were the numbers he had to work with.

Sins he carried between his fingers.

How many dead oil engineers were worth a tanker?

How many soldiers could be spared for the suburbs when it was the docks that were getting grain out to Europe?

How many dead were worth a case of bullets?

How much blood for a barrel of gasoline so the trucks don’t run dry?

He had those numbers in his head all day, and worse.

Each and every day.

And he had those thoughts just earlier when the commanding officer of nuclear arms sat with him for a stark conversation on the situation in LA.

“The Ghost team failed, sir. The report is that the Ghost buckled under the weight and the team was overrun. They’re spreading out from downtown LA and beginning to bleed into the other districts.”

“Four point two million,” John had told him.

“Sir?”

“There’s four point two million people in LA, and right around a hundred thousand in the downtown district. The metro area from LA is about twenty-three million people. Approximately six percent of the population of the United States.”

“Those numbers sound about right, sir, but I don’t quite follow.”

“A hundred thousand. That’s the amount of blood I’m willing to pay to buy the rest of the twenty-three million time to get out.”

“I understand, sir.” The man opened a case and set it in front of John.

They called it the Nuclear Football.

It’s what gave presidents the ability to launch warheads at a moment’s notice.

“God help me,” John said as he took up the keys. “I’ll burn in hell for this.”

John tapped some buttons, said a few numbers into a microphone, and then inserted a hard, plastic key into a slot and turned it.

There was a click.

And that sound was all he had to know he’d just killed a hundred thousand people—men, women, and children—hiding in their homes and fighting for their lives.

“Close that up for me,” John ordered.

“Yes, sir.” The officer quickly started closing the football and locking it back to his wrist.

“Give me a minute,” John ordered before the man headed out.

John turned in his chair and stared at a wall.

He would have liked to crawl into a closet and never come out.

He could have even settled for two minutes staring blankly at the wall.

But he had more numbers in his head. More thoughts of oil, unrefined lithium, steel, lead, grain, antibiotics . . . and blood.

Lots of blood.

He would have liked two more minutes. Just two more to stare at the wall and pray for forgiveness.

But he allowed himself only ten seconds.

John let out a breath, stood, adjusted his collar, and headed toward the awaiting meeting down the hall.

FIFTEEN MINUTES away from the Oval Office and John wasn’t thinking about nuclear weapons anymore.

There would be time to second-guess and hate himself later.

Now was the time to focus.

He was at a quiet table with Secretary Roles and a senior member of Orbital Corps.

“Is it even possible?” John asked.

The dark-haired woman of Orbital Corps nodded. “Yes, sir, it’s certainly possible but by no means guaranteed. It typically takes a ten-month tour to get to Mars, most of it done in cryo.”

Roles took a sharp breath. “Ten months is too long. We would need to implement our dark engine program. We could shorten it to a few weeks. Maybe even less.”

The woman shifted in her seat and moved her eyes from John.

“What program? How in the hell could you shorten the trip to a few weeks?” John asked.

Roles gave the woman a look and then lifted his suitcase from his side to set it on the table. “We ran some black-site research programs from there. Out of the public eye.” He popped open the case and slid over a file. “Will Braun had been working on an engine design. It was nearly completed before the incident on Mars.”

John opened the file. “This is where it all began?”

Roles nodded. “His engine design could get us back up there. There’s a gate that could be reactivated.”

“Could be,” the woman interjected. “We had a cleanup crew go there before. There were still some active hostiles, but everything seemed like a tomb. It’s just as possible we get there and find that it’s too fried for anything.”

“You just abandoned a thirty-five-billion-dollar research facility?” John asked.

“The staff was all dead and the circuit system fried, not to mention the environmental damage and material decay. So, yes. The amount it would cost to retrain staff, reposition them on site, and repair the grid and facility was deemed too much for the budget. It was already old to begin with, and no current staff or officers have any experience with the facility. We’re short on time so we’ll have to comb through our retirees and see if we can pull someone back in. Unless there’s someone else?”

Roles made a face and turned.

“Do you know someone who could lead the team?” John asked.

He nodded. “I do. She won’t like it but she won’t say no. She’s a good soldier.”

“Let me see the resource log again,” John said, and the Orbital Corps senior offered it. He looked it over. “This whole thing is expensive. We’re running on fumes as is. What’s your honest assessment on the value?”

“The value,” Roles said and rubbed his chin. “When I first heard the idea, I was a bit suspicious myself. Sure, who wouldn’t like to blow up a bomb on those asshole’s home turf? But I wasn’t sure what use it would be for us in the here and now. But then I heard one of them talk about The Mother.”

John frowned. “What the hell is that?”

Roles shook his head. “I’ve been looking into it, but it’s not like tapping phone lines. The best I can tell, she’s something of an evil god that they all worship. Apparently, she’s birthing all these things.”

“Jesus Christ,” John whispered. “It always gets stranger with these things, doesn’t it?”

Roles huffed in agreement. “I think if we can pop it off near her, it’ll be worth the investment.”

John looked back at the resource listing. “Hmm . . . I guess it’s not so much if it's to kill a god.”

12

ROLES WAS a busy man these days and he hardly had a minute to himself on the toilet, let alone time to review videos.

But he had a datapad in hand and a smoldering cigarette in the other. He’d found a nice empty hallway and watched the grainy black-and-white vid shot through someone’s night vision cam.

It was of a Ghost.

They looked to be in some kind of abandoned factory. Like a dark magician, the Ghost held his hands up and waves of enemies turned on each other, ripping pieces of meat off one another until there was nothing left to move. Through the bloody melee, the Ghost looked up to a broken hole in the ceiling above him. He reached his hand up and yanked it down.

It was like someone dumped a massive bucket of fish. Bodies collapsed to the ground in a heap.

It was a beautiful thing to behold.

But Roles stuck the cigarette into his mouth and took a deep drag. He wasn’t much for cigs these days, but he felt like he needed something.

He already knew what was coming next.

Out of nowhere, the Ghost staggered as if hit by some kind of unknown force. Moments later, the wall to his side shattered in a rain of concrete and dust.

There was a smoky haze with flashes of gunfire and panicked movement on the cam despite the stabilizers.

The Archon was there, and he was killing everyone.

Whoever was wearing the cam raised his rifle and fired, and each round looked to hit, but the Archon was unconcerned as he descended upon the man. There was a flash of his black wing and then the man’s head with the cam went rolling across the floor.

When it settled, the Ghost was on his knees on the ground, his hands on his head and screaming, though the vid was silent.

The Archon’s heavy foot stepped in view of the cam but nothing else could be seen.

Roles hit the close button on the vid and let out a stream of smoke.

The Archon had killed several, but he wasn’t the only one. The Ghosts were effective and saw massive successes, but they weren’t invincible. They often buckled under the weight of the horde.

Roles took the cig out and rolled it between his fingers as he considered.

It was all a numbers game and that was the problem.

They had to make the Ghosts faster than the cronux could kill them.

He took another drag and stuffed the cigarette into the wall before he dropped it onto the linoleum floor and crushed it with his heel.

He didn’t like the math.

He slid the datapad into a suit jacket pocket and walked down the hall. He checked his watch.

Right on time.

Cora would be having an arranged meeting with staff, and that left Eli for some free time, holed up in an unused office room.

It was fortunate that Roles had access to their agendas.

He opened the door to the room Eli was in.

“Hey there, kid, how are you doing?”

Eli sat at a couch with a small coffee table with books and crayons laying on it. A vid screen mounted on the wall played some goofy cartoon that someone had muted.

Eli looked up at Roles with red eyes, but said nothing.

The hair stood up on the back of Roles’ neck. There was always an unnatural stillness to Eli’s movements and it seemed to be getting worse.

Roles supposed such things happened when you didn’t have to breathe and had no heartbeat.

If Roles had any anxiety, it was only temporary and he was a practiced hand at stepping past such things. He moved into the room and took a seat alongside Eli and opened his satchel.

“Brought you something.” He took two soda bottles out and sat one on the table. He twisted the cap off the other and handed it to Eli.

Eli took it with some reluctance while Roles opened the other. He took a drink and sighed. Eli only held his drink in his hands, but Roles pretended not to notice.

He leaned back into the chair to relax. “Not easy doing what you do, is it?”

Eli shook his head.

Roles took another drink and reached his arms to either side of the back of the couch to relax. “So I heard Eli is your middle name, is that right?”

Eli nodded and wiped his nose.

“First name’s Tommy, after your dad, isn’t it? You know, I knew your dad.”

Eli perked up. “You did?”

Roles raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise. “Oh yeah, you didn’t know that? Tommy Reeves. One of the best men I ever knew. A lot of people said that about him. Your mom ever tell you that?”

Eli’s face lightened and his eyes grew a little wider with anticipation. “No. She doesn’t really tell me much about him. She always gets sad. She promised to tell me more later, though.”

“But she’s told you a little?”

Eli bobbed his head. “She told me he worked with her on a ship.”

Roles took a drink and gestured to Eli, and this time, the boy took a sip of his own.

“He was the electrical engineer on the Perihelion. Big ole spaceship they take to Mars. Cargo ship, actually, that means they—”

“I know what a cargo ship is,” Eli said.

Roles chuckled under his breath. “Of course you do, you’re the smartest kid I’ve ever met. When my kids were your age, they were eating crayons.”

“Were they really?” Eli asked.

Roles laughed again. “No, I was just joking. But your dad, he was one of the first people to fight these things. He found them up on Mars. He’s . . . Well . . .”

Eli frowned. “He’s what?”

“I really shouldn’t say.” Roles made a face as if he’d said too much and held up a hand.

“You can tell me!” Eli insisted as he pulled his legs up onto the chair.

Roles leaned a bit closer and his tone shifted. He whispered as if it were all a secret between the two of them.

“Have you heard how he died?”

Eli went still again, his face like a wax statue but his eyes fixed on Roles.

Roles felt a nervous crawl on his neck again but settled it with another drink of soda.

He leaned back into the chair once more, but that only caused Eli to lean in. Roles was nothing if not good at theater. “People were dying up there when your father found them. Lot of people dying. Just like now, in fact. Your daddy, though, he wasn’t scared—or maybe he was, hell I’d be—but he didn’t let it bother him. You know what he did?”

“What?”

“He got his rifle and said no more. He fought them until he couldn’t fight anymore and then he sacrificed his life so that others could live. Reminds me of your mom. Boy, I couldn’t tell you how sad she was to ship out. How much she was thinking about you, but she knew the rest of us needed her out there. She knew what it means to sacrifice.”

Eli looked toward the wall, the gears in his mind turning.

“Have another drink,” Roles encouraged.

Eli tipped up the soda as he continued to stare at the wall.

“Hey, that’s probably where you get it from, huh?” Roles nudged him. “You got the same blood as your mom and dad. Your family knows what it’s like to sacrifice for people that need help, right?”

Eli nodded, fully convinced, his face far more resolute than when Roles came in.

“You know, though, Eli. It’s not looking good out there.” Roles shook his head. “Whole world is coming down. It’s people like your mom and dad that keep us in the fight.” He finished his drink. “People like you.”

Eli nodded again.

“You did a lot of good work with that freak. But let me ask you something. You could touch its mind, but can you find others?”

Eli made a face. “I almost found my mom once, but it’s not easy.”

“Here’s the thing, I don’t know exactly how it works but I was hoping you could find something for me.”

“What?”

“The Janissary.”

13

MILES RUBBED his red eyes as visions of claws and teeth ran through his head. He sighed. All the legroom in the world and he still couldn’t get any sleep. Endo, though, was passed out cold.

“Oh, you bastard,” Miles mumbled as he got up from his seat. He groaned as he stretched. The plane was mostly empty except for a few staff members and dignitaries and of course, the Red Bitch in the back.

Miles sighed and went toward the bathroom. He got inside and fumbled with the door that wouldn’t lock. “You prick.” He clicked the lock several times before it finally connected. He couldn’t imagine anything worse at that moment than having to touch the inside of an airplane bathroom, but he’d have to deal.

He froze in place when he looked up and saw his face in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot with huge, dark circles.

“Mr. Westwood,” he said with a growl. “You look like shit.”

He feigned a tired smile before giving up and turning on the faucet to splash water on his face.

After a few splashes, he rested both hands on the sink and let his head droop.

He had a lot on his mind, not least of all Eli. The kid sounded terrified and it made Miles’ heart ache.

But there were a lot of terrified kids out there, weren’t there?

Miles looked back into the mirror and watched himself. He was getting a bit shaggy on all ends. The haircut would have to wait, but the shave . . .

“Ah, shit.” He tipped his head back. He’d left the kit in his stowed bag.

Not a damn thing was going his way today, it seemed.

He reached for his phone, but he only patted empty pockets.

He threw his head back and huffed again. “Right, right.”

Alice had it.

With a sigh, he shook his head. “Well, let’s go do this.”

He took one more glance at his haggard face in the mirror before exiting the bathroom.

He headed back past his seat, casting a half-irritated look at Endo.

He passed by a few of the other passengers, and they were either working on datapads or sleeping. But when he got to Alice, several rows around her were cleared as if everyone were afraid they might catch something being near her.

Miles wasn’t; he’d seen weird before, even if Alice topped the list.

He came to stand at the end of her row, his hands on the head rests of both seats.

She turned and looked at him, her expression flat and emotionless.

“Hey, did you, uhh . . . I mean . . . Do you still have my phone?”

“Oh, yeah.” Her expression lightened. She dug the phone out of her jacket pocket and held it out to him.

Miles leaned into the row to take it. He gave her a smile. “Thanks,” he said as he turned to head back to his seat.

“Want to sit?” she asked, and gestured toward an open seat.

“Uhh.” Miles rubbed his phone and slid it into his pocket. “Yeah, sure, if you want.” He took the seat next to her. She flashed her eyes at him again and he could see how green they were.

“I’m sorry about before,” she said.

“Yeah, well, don’t mention it.” Miles made a face and half laughed. “Actually, wait, what are you sorry for?”

“You were right. I should have called Eli. It’s been so long since I talked to him. I love him, but I don’t feel like a mother anymore. It doesn’t matter, though, you’re right. He needs me.”

“Ah, I got it.” Miles nodded. “It can’t be easy for you. You’ve been through a lot. Things no one could imagine. He’ll forgive you. He’s a good kid.”

Alice reached over and touched Miles’ hand. It made him freeze.

“He told me what you did, Miles. Back at the White House. You saved his life. Thank you.”

Miles shook his head. “Hey, he’s a cool kid. Anyone would do it.”

“But it wasn’t anyone. It was you.”

“Yeah . . .” Miles looked away.

“I’m glad someone was looking out for him. When I was . . .” She let it linger as she trailed off.

“Listen, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” Miles patted the back of her hand.

“No, I should. I feel like I have to tell someone, you know?” She looked back into his eyes. “It wasn’t me, Miles. The Archon had me. Poisoned my soul. He made me do things to people . . . Things I’ll never forget or be able to forgive myself for. I was a monster. I am a monster. But the whole time . . . There was this flicker of something in me.” Her eyes grew wet, but her voice stayed steady. “Miles, it was Eli. He kept looking for me. He never stopped. But I wasn’t there for him. And it might be the only reason I’m still here. He kept looking for me and even when I had the chance to call him, I didn’t want to. I didn’t feel like I could.” The tears trailed down her cheeks.

Miles took her hand and squeezed it.

“Alice, you’re the only reason any of us are around, and it takes a hell of a lot of guts to dig yourself out of hell for the people you love. I’ve been there. Well—fuck—not anything like what you’ve been through, but I’ve licked the surface. It’s horrible. You feel inhuman.”

Alice took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “God, just look at me crying here like I deserve it. I’m such a coward.”

“Coward?” Miles scoffed. “Alice, you’re the most badass woman I’ve ever met in my life. Who in the fuck could get themselves out of bed in the morning doing what you do? You’re it. You’re the one.” He squeezed her hand again. A smile slid across his face. “But I mean, you were a bit of a twat when I first met you, but a coward? Nah.”

She opened her eyes and stared at him with a soft chuckle. “You’re an idiot.”

“So I’m told. But everything I said was true, except that last part. I’ve seen the Ghost Program. I haven’t had much firsthand experience with any of them, but I’ve heard a little here and there. Half of them are near catatonic or insane, and you’ve had that shit in your head for years.”

“Yeah.” Alice put her head back against the headrest. “You know, it helps. Talking like this makes me feel more human. It grounds me. I needed someone to hear it, and you did Miles. After I talked with Eli, I stopped in and talked with Collins, and you’re right. She looks like death. It’s not easy getting through this. Your mind is getting pulled in a thousand different directions.”

“Can’t imagine,” Miles said with a shake of his head. “If it helps you, though, we should let the program know. Maybe they can figure out a way to implement it for the others.”

“Sure, but I doubt there’s much time for anyone to sit back and talk about their feelings.”

Miles hissed. “No lie there. Lot of bullshit to thrust on people like you.” He wanted to say more, but he found himself at a loss for words. Instead, he sighed again and stared at the back of the seat in front of him.

“We’ve got time now, though, don’t we?” Alice asked as she wiped her face. “How about you? You said you’ve gone through something.”

“Ahh.” He waved a hand. “Sometimes my tongue outruns my brain, is all. Never did anything like what you’ve done. We don’t need to talk about me anyway, I’ve had an easy run. Let me hear more about you.”

“No, I don’t believe you. Why don’t you tell me? I want to hear it.”

Miles grunted and smirked. “Well if you want. Can’t disappoint Eli’s mom now, can I?”

She grinned. “Yeah, let me hear your story. It helps.”

He puffed his cheeks and exhaled. “All right, then. I’m a bit of a celebrity with the weirdos. I do shows on bigfoot and whatever else. But, uhh, I built it with my wife. And as it went on, the work became too much for us and we ended up going our separate ways.” He snorted and shook his head. “Maybe I’m making it a bit softer than I should. Reality was, it was more of me being a shithead than much else. We had a good thing and I just gave it up for a little attention from the masses.” He shot her a look. “And by masses, I meant that aforementioned group of weirdos.”

Alice teased him with a smile. “I think I’ve seen a show before, Miles.”

“Just one? I suppose you weren’t quite weird enough. Anyway, if I was a shithead before that, I became a real cunt after. I went through a spat where I didn’t have much personality. Bit of a cock with legs, I suppose, uhh . . . I suppose it hurt to be anything else. I kept pushing the envelope on what we could do and one day . . .” He held up a finger. “One day, I got my cameraman killed.” Miles laughed under his breath, but it was painful. His eyes were getting wet. “But if you think that stopped me, no, because a kid came to me when I was out on tour and told me he had a good scoop in the Soviet Union before all this bullshit began, and you know what.” He waved a hand again. “Here we are. I haven’t learned a fuckin’ thing except . . . except. I’m a bit more self-aware of how useless I am. Now then. How’s that compare to a Spartan Warlord such as yourself?”

“Whatever it was, or whatever it is you did, I’m glad you were here. And I’m glad you were there for Eli.”

Miles bobbed his head as he considered. “You know what? Me too.”

A military official came down the aisle and stopped by their row. Alice pulled her hand away from Miles.

“Ms. Winters, I have to inform you that we’ve been rerouted. There's some concern about the safety of the skies, so we’ll make our way to Fort Ashwood in North Carolina. We have a team routing there to get you suited up. Command thinks a military-grade aircraft will be safer.”

“All right, then.” Alice nodded, and when the man left, she turned to look out the window.

Miles noticed she was squeezing her hands into fists. Her whole body had tensed.

“You want me to . . .” he started, but she didn’t look. He went to stand but thought better of it. “Alice?”

She turned from the window. “What?”

He mocked a serious telling face. “You might not know this, you know moms don’t always know everything about their kid. But Eli, he’s a bit of a nerd.”

“What do you mean?”

He laughed. “You know what I caught him reading? A book on the Civil War. I’ve been around kids before and I never caught one as young as him reading books on the Civil War.”

Alice chuckled under her breath. “Would you believe I tried to get him into picture books? He wouldn’t go for it.”

“I can believe it,” Miles said as Alice shifted to face him.

“I guess you spent some time with him.”

“Oh yeah,” Miles said, lifting his eyebrows. “Let me tell you what he said to me about penguins.”

Alice smiled and Miles grinned back.

THE PLANE RIDE had gone pleasant enough for Alice. She liked talking with Miles and she definitely felt more grounded when she was with him. When they landed, he even offered to carry her bag for her.

But as soon as they were on the ground, a team was already waiting and ready to whisk her off.

“Wait, her bag!” Miles said, and a man in uniform retrieved it from him.

As they guided Alice into the transport, she looked back to see Miles give a half-hearted wave.

Everything else happened in a blur, and now Alice was in a gown several floors beneath the surface. She always had the odd sensation of stepping into her grave while riding the elevators deep into the Earth.

Everything had a still and quiet feeling to it. The air was a bit too stale and still and some lunatic had thought it was a good idea to set up fake windows in some of the rooms with a vid screen to make them feel like they were still above ground.

They sat Alice in one of the rooms with an IV plugged into her arm. She stared at one of the false windows as its vid played on repeat. It was a view of rows of corn, and every few seconds, the nearest stalk wound bend from the breeze.

It had such a fake veneer of reality that Alice thought it unsettling.

“I think a painting would have been better,” she said.

“We find it helps to keep touch with reality,” an older doctor said to her. He offered a plastic smile that she imagined he’d honed from years of practice.

It was as real as the vid screen and as necessary as the IV in her arm.

“I’d prefer a blank wall,” Alice said as she turned her eyes on the man.

The smile stayed but she could see the tension in his eyes. He was nervous.

“Let’s try and focus, shall we?” The man pulled a card out from a folder. “Can you tell me what you see?”

Alice looked at the card and then to the man.

“A dog jumping,” she answered.

He inched closer. “Can you be more specific?”

“A dog jumping to catch a ball?” Her impatience rose.

The doctor frowned and raised his gray eyebrows. “Let’s try another.” He set it aside.

“What the fuck do you want me to say? He’s playing? Having a good time catching a ball?”

The doctor’s cheeks turned red and he laughed nervously as he scribbled something on his datapad. He grabbed another card and held it up. “And this?”

“There’s a child crying,” Alice said flatly. “A young boy.”

“Why do you think he’s crying, Alice?”

“How in the hell should I know?”

“Ms. Winters, it's important that you understand that this is an evaluation before we send you out into the field. It’s necessary that we—”

“Know that I’m not going to kill anyone else again?” she interrupted. She held the black synthetic arm up. “See this? It’s new. An alien god ripped my other one off and grew a new one for me. I had my Japanese friend cut it off and German technicians replaced it with this.” She snapped the fingers twice. “They’re good. I wasn’t able to do that before.”

The man grew flustered. “Well, I—”

“And who thought I needed this?” Alice looked at the IV. She pulled it out of her arm. “I don’t eat or sleep.” She stood. “My body isn’t human anymore, Doctor. But my mind is.” She tapped her head. “I’m Alice, of man.”

“I see, but—”

“Now, stop wasting my time and find out who’s supposed to get me into a CAG.”

14

MOLLER STARED down at a readout of a list of names.

It was a list of dead Ghosts.

“How’s that feel?” That could have been the voice inside her head speaking, to which she would have said, like shit, but it was actually the technician working on her leg.

She set the readout aside and looked down to see the black synthetic skin peeled open like a banana and the internals of her leg shuddering. “Feels like I’ve got the shakes.”

The man frowned. “Yeah, it’s not unusual for the firing pistons to keep moving like that, but it’s not typical for people to feel it. Think of it like a pulse.”

“Yeah, well I do. Can you fix it?”

“I’d need to tinker with it for a bit.”

“Can we just take this damn thing off while you work on it? I’m busy.”

“If it makes it easier, sure.”

“Do it,” she said and grabbed the readout again.

Jennifer Harper.

Lucas Bennett.

Ryan Walker.

She set the readout aside again. She couldn’t stand to read the names anymore.

The technician slid his hand up to where her inner thigh would have been and tugged at something. Moller wasn’t looking; her eyes were back at the paper.

It could have been a datapad, but then she’d have to look at their eyes.

She preferred cold ink on paper.

She flipped past the names and read the scenarios. Each was several pages long with detailed accounts of what happened and what went wrong along with any health readings such as oxygen levels and heartbeats—but that rarely meant anything for the Ghosts.

Moller was supposed to study it and improve their deployment.

The technician tugged again, but Moller focused on the pages.

A clearing mission gone wrong.

Friendly fire from a tank crew.

An unseen enemy aerial attack that took the Ghost’s head off.

A Ghost that screamed until he shot himself in the field.

Moller stopped at that last one. She leaned her head back and breathed, trying to find her focus.

What the hell do you do when all of them are insane?

“Well I’ll be a son of a bitch, that’s stuck in there,” the technician complained. “Going to have to pull a little harder. Can you grab onto the back of the bench?”

“Confirmed,” Moller answered before she thought better of it. “I mean, okay.” She set the readout down and found a grip.

The technician grinned at her. “Hard to turn it off sometimes, innit?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

The man tugged and it shook her body, but she held tight. There was a satisfying pop and the man hefted her leg up.

“There we go! I can see the problem already. Looks like you’ve got some grime falling down there. Could be blood, dirt, or whatever else. Probably not allowing the pistons to fully engage. I’ll take this out and get it back to you in an hour. You okay to wait?”

“No. You got the trainer leg still, don’t you?”

He nodded. “A moment and I’ll get you plugged in.”

The technician left her leg on the bed as he stepped out.

Moller stared at it for a moment considering the absurdity before shaking her head and going back to the sheet.

Twelve dead this week.

She flipped a page and saw a new listing of names—fresh Ghosts ready for deployment.

There was a knock at the door.

“You decent?” Roles asked.

Sitting there in her underwear and a long shirt, she answered, “Decent enough.”

Roles stuck his head in and looked her over. “I see you got the report.”

“Yeah, twelve dead and twenty ready to deploy.”

“That means we’re up by eight.”

“That’s some kind of math, isn’t it?”

“The kind you need to win wars, but I get the point. We need them to last. You got ideas for me?”

“Ideas? Yeah. Stop deploying Ghosts with no active combat experience into war zones. Jennifer Harper here drove a carrier.”

“Yet she was hell in a hand grenade on the field.”

“Now she’s dead.”

“Hmm, another fair point,” Roles agreed. “But beggars can’t be choosers. These things are eating us alive all up and down the map. We’re spread thin and it's getting thinner. They don’t need to win any large-scale battles against us, they just need to eat our tails until there’s nothing left.”

“We start pairing them. Take the new bloods and put them with the veterans. Half these guys lose their fucking minds before they even get on the battlefield, and a quarter of them break from the pressure.”

“Not a quarter, just ten percent.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do. And your point is fair, but as was said, we’re being eaten alive. We need numbers.”

Moller shook her head. “We need to stop the bleeding. We keep a generation of them alive and they can help the next hold their shit together. And if we do that, we can work on it.”

“Hmm,” Roles considered. “And what do you do when there’s a call for deployment but no hands on deck?”

“I never said there wouldn’t be hard choices. We have to triage.”

“Now who's doing math? You’re not wrong, though. We’re sending out a few more to our global partners. The president wants us to triple our foreign deployment numbers. So however you want to do it, it’s your call. I trust your judgment.”

“I know,” Moller said and hung her head. “And I don’t like it. I’m not cut out for this. I’m a field agent, not a director.”

Roles took another step inside the room. “About that . . .”

Moller looked up at him. She studied his eyes but he only stared back. “Yeah?” she finally asked.

“I hear you’ve been working closely with an understudy.”

“Two and looking for a third. I have to sleep sometime and we need a backup. We can’t trust that the machine systems in my body won’t fail. If I go into cardiac arrest, we need someone else who understands the program.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Your systems are better than Braun’s, and think about how long that bastard lasted. Anyway, you think your officer could take the lead soon?”

“I’ve got him doing it right now.”

“All right. Finish up whatever training procedures you need to get them on board because I have somewhere else I need to send you. I’ll need you to talk with Marat too, we’ll need him.”

“Where to?”

“Mars.”

MARAT DIDN’T HAVE AS much time to himself as he had before. That was fine, though; he found that too much free time on the internet often made him fall down a pit of depraved pornography.

“Too much of a good thing,” he muttered in Ukrainian as he fiddled with the charging wire for his language assistant. He’d forgotten to charge it and the battery ran dead.

He plugged it in and the light turned green. He pressed the start button and it began to wake.

As it warmed up, Marat glanced over to the door to the small office inside the bunker. He walked over to a glass panel and angled his head to look down either side.

It didn’t seem like anyone was around.

He fished his cigarette pack out of his pocket and got out his electro lighter. He stuck the cig in and lit it just as the machine began talking about its functions.

He took a puff. “Ohhh,” he said, relaxing and exhaling a stream of smoke.

He wasn’t supposed to smoke in the bunker and someone always got pissed off when he did, but he was sure a little smoke couldn’t hurt for a place that smelled like stale fart all the time.

“Lesson forty-seven,” the machine said. “Hello, miss. Could you tell me where the post office is?”

Marat took another deep puff and exhaled. His mechanical lungs popped inside his chest, making him wheeze, but he slapped his chest until they settled. They started doing that these days.

“Piece of shit . . .”

The machine flashed red and began to repeat, “Hello, miss. Could—”

“Stop,” Marat ordered and took a deep breath, settling the lungs. “Hello, miss. Could you tell me where the post office is?”

The voice recorder flashed green.

Marat pointed his finger at it like a gun and fired. “Bang, bull’s-eye.”

It flashed red.

“No, dumb shit, that wasn’t for you.”

It flashed red again.

“Eh!” he hissed and pushed the skip button.

The assistant jumped forward and began again.

“Good afternoon, I’ve come to speak with Mr. Row, is he in?”

He plugged the cig into his mouth and spoke with it tucked between his teeth. He saw that once in an American movie before and thought it looked cool.

“Good after—”

There was a knock at the door that made him jump and spit the cig out. He snatched it up before peeking over.

Moller cracked the door open and stuck her head in. “You’re not supposed to smoke in here.”

“Yeah? No one tell me that. I know director and she is the boss. She say it is okay.” He grinned.

Moller stepped in. “You’re getting better. You’re a quick learner.”

He wanted to take another puff, but it wasn’t good for Moller’s replacement organs, so he stuffed it into an ashtray and fanned it away. “It’s a good time. No problem.”

“Marat,” she said, and her face was deadly serious. It made his chest feel tight. “I’m going to be leaving soon.”

Marat frowned. “Leave where?”

Her gaze flicked in between each of his eyes.

“Earth.”

“What?” Marat made a face as if she told him a joke.

“There’s a gate on Mars, and the Soviets have a plan. I was one of the last up there so they want me to go.”

“No, you do this job. You’re good at this. They can send another.”

“There’s no one else to send. I’m sure they wish there was. No one is eager to see what space travel does to my systems. There’s no choice, though. No time to train anyone else.”

“This is . . .” Marat looked down and shook his head.

“Marat. They want you to go too.”

His head snapped up toward her.

She looked sad to him; it was strange to see her look that way. He could even hear it in her voice.

“You don’t have to go, though. This isn’t the Soviet Union. You have a choice. It’s almost certainly a one-way trip. Me, though? I can’t possibly have too many years left with all this shit plugged into me. And even if I do, the quality of life gets worse as you go on. Bodies can’t support this much hardware for the long term. You, though . . . There’s a lot you can do here. A lot you’ve already done.”

Marat felt a lump in his throat but he swallowed it. “How? It’s impossible to rebuild gate there. Not possible to do fast.”

“When we left it we only fried the grid. If we bring an external power source, the engineers think they can juice it for short term use.”

“But why?” Marat said, making a face.

“Somebody thinks if we can turn it on, then we can send a bomb through. The Soviets gave us a bomb. It’s portable enough with a team, but it’s got power. A lot of power. But like I said—”

“No,” Marat cut in. “I go.”

She chuckled, finding him hard to understand. “What?”

“No, you don’t have to talk anymore. I’ll go. If you are go. Then I go. No one else knows the gates like me. Can’t be only power. If you fried the system some parts need be replaced. I am certain. No one knows gates like me. I go.”

Moller crossed her arms. “Marat, you know when I met you, you were kind of a piece of shit. Real loser.”

“And now?”

“You give me hope that people are worth dying for.”

Marat reached out and rubbed her arm.

She smiled at him.

“You know what I thought about you first time I saw?” he asked.

“What?”

“Very sexy blonde.”

She chuckled and rolled her eyes.

“You, uhh . . .” He gestured toward the table.

“No. Not here. You’re crazy. Besides, I got work to do.” Moller turned and walked away. She stopped at the door threshold and glanced back at him. “Maybe later, though.”

Marat’s eyes lit up with glee and he watched her leave.

When the door closed, he turned around, put his hands on the table, and leaned over it to breathe. He took several long breaths before he straightened up.

He stared at the wall, unsure what to do next.

“Hell with it,” he said in Ukrainian. “Let’s go again.”

He hit the button on the language assistant.

15

GENERAL SECRETARY KIM squeezed the ass of the woman at his side. She was half a head taller than him, but he didn’t mind. He liked long legs, especially in the dark purple dress he had her in. A winter chill was setting in and he could see her skin prickling, but she never complained.

He told her to wear it and so she did.

That was the power he had. People would suffer if only to please him. Just the thought of it made him stiff in the pants. It hadn’t always been that way. When his father was in charge of Korea, there were restrictions and stupid expectations.

All Kim ever heard were complaints, but now it was only praise.

Except Zhao . . .

That was the truth of it. Zhao was the only one who would turn dark eyes toward Kim.

Only a fool would expect that Korean power could match Chinese, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a power on his own.

A power that should be respected.

Feared.

His father had beaten him over the head with study study study, forcing him to learn multiple languages despite the fact that his older brother was the chosen heir.

His brother would tease him when they were young. “I’m the heir, you’re the spare.” The evil little shit would always follow it up with a heavy poke to Kim’s soft midsection.

But who’s laughing now?

His older brother’s plane crashed on a trip to China, and now it was the second son’s turn for a little of the limelight.

Funny how a little plastique in the right place can shape nations.

The thought made Kim chuckle to himself.

Kim had to clean the slate.

His father had made them all study in Beijing under false identities under some stupid belief that living the life of a civilian would teach them some humility. His father stripped away their luxuries and their security.

In reality, it made it all the more easy for Kim to have both younger brothers knifed under the premise of muggings.

Yes, it was essential to make sure he wasn’t simply the best option, but also the only option.

There were some small rumblings of his Uncle Park taking command, but he was among the first to bend the knee. A wise decision, lest Uncle Park find himself at the sharp end of Kim’s anger.

And that settled things. His older brother had been an asshole and his father an idiot.

But Kim? He knew how to play the game.

Now, high in a watchtower connected to his villa, he put a set of binoculars to his eyes and saw a speck in the distance.

“That them?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” the base commander answered.

Kim’s pants got a little tighter as he lowered the binoculars. He pulled the woman closer to him and she laughed despite nearly getting yanked off her feet.

She was Chinese—a gift from the Governor of Hubei—and trained in all the ways that Kim needed. He was easily bored with women these days, but he still had a craving. The things he had to do to the women just to keep the excitement alive were horrible. At times, when he was of a clearer mind, the thoughts sickened him. Bloody as it was, it was still understandable. He was the dear leader, and all Korea’s responsibilities fell on his shoulders. At moments, when the blood ran wet on his hands and the sadistic thoughts had retreated, he had regrets, but those regrets and the pain that came with them were part of the price he had to pay.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, he supposed.

But this woman? She kept his interest.

For now anyway.

He had half a mind to get at her right here as the plane was coming . . .

But no.

“Are my defenses prepared, Commander?” Kim asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Ohhh.” He smirked ear to ear.

This certainly proved it. His father didn’t have the balls or brains that he did . . .

Because that was Zhao on the plane.

Kim had a vid meeting with the old fool the day before and Zhao seemed desperate to save face and mend things, knowing that Kim held all the cards.

In fact, Kim was prepared to march a Dragon up in front of the screen and blow his head off just to let Zhao know he was serious.

That wasn’t how it played out, though . . .

“I am willing to discuss terms, but we must do so in person,” Kim had said.

Zhao had only stared at him, his eyes cold and his gaze heavy like a flat rock laid on the chest. Kim, of course, had to feign some tension and fear. He wasn’t afraid, though. Why would he be? He had all the cards, and it was only a vid, and they were leagues apart . . . But Zhao’s dead-eye stare always made Kim uncomfortable, just like his father’s. It dug deep into him and peeled away the layers of his soul. It debased him like a poke to the soft midsection.

“I’m the heir, you’re the spare.”

It was unrelentingly irritating how Zhao seemed to summon both Kim’s old brother and father from the grave with an irritating glare.

It didn’t frighten him, though. He reiterated to himself that it was just an act.

All part of the play he had to make . . .

And things were moving smoothly.

Soon, Kim’s anti aircraft guns would blow the old fool out of the sky.

He had a field of soldiers below him, all waiting with eyes trained upward to witness the great Chairman of China turned into confetti.

Kim’s grin twisted into a sneer.

“Take these.” He shoved the binoculars at the commander. “Fire at him when he’s in range.”

“Sir, I understand the plan, but if he begins to descend, then it’s highly likely the wreckage will crash into our airfields.”

Kim’s face burned red. “Do you know who is on that plane?”

“Yes, sir, I—”

“Zhao. Do you know what will happen if we fire at him and miss? Fuck the airfield. We have more. You wait until he’s certain to die and fire. Now go.” He waved a dismissive hand.

“Yes, sir.” The commander saluted, then bowed and backed out.

Kim leaned forward and put his hands on the ledge. Soldiers on the ground, in their dark-green uniforms, were pointing up at the sky, or some even turning to stare with wide-eyed adornment at their great leader. The mood was jovial, but not Kim—his whole face tightened up. He wasn’t sure why, but that commander pissed him off. He turned to look at the way the man had left.

“He’ll regret his words. He’ll regret the look on his face.”

“You’re so stressed . . . So focused,” the woman whispered into his ear as she rubbed between his legs.

The heat on his ear made his worries melt away. He squeezed her ass again and grunted as he focused forward. “You know what? After fireworks pop on Zhao’s plane, I’m going to bend you over this ledge here.”

The woman giggled and pulled away.

“I didn’t say to stop,” he insisted, and she leaned forward to rub him again.

The plane was only a dot in the sky, but he could see it approaching and he could feel the heat rising in his chest.

He was about to kill Chairman Zhao.

About to prove how smart he was and how stupid his father was.

He’d make Korea great.

“Hell with waiting,” he said, and grabbed the woman, yanking her in front of him. She giggled even as he shoved her against the ledge and lifted the back of her dress.

“The soldiers will see us,” she said, looking back over her shoulder.

“Let them watch.”

He looked down over the side and saw some soldiers still peering up.

Somehow, that made it even more exciting.

He started undoing his pants but heard footsteps closing in.

The bastard must have crawled back.

Now he was going to make that asshole sit in a corner and watch, then put him in front of an anti aircraft gun next.

“I told you,” Kim hissed as he spun around, his dick nearly in his hand.

A horror of a man loomed behind him. Inhuman mechanical parts were loaded onto his body, his legs bending like a wolf’s standing on hind legs, and one of his arms was impossibly long with exposed mechanical bits visibly firing and twisting as the man moved.

“Hello,” the horror said in poorly accented Korean.

Kim fumbled backward so quickly he shoved the woman off the ledge and she went bare ass and screaming toward her death.

Kim knew who this was.

He knew what this was.

It was the terror of the Chinese.

The Curse of the East Wind.

“Gray Fox . . .” he mumbled in Mandarin.

Gray Fox bared his teeth like a wild animal and held up the arm as a blade unfolded with a snap-snap-snap.

IT WAS unfortunate the dumb shit knocked the woman out. She screamed all the way until she hit the ground with a presumable splat.

Presumable only because he couldn’t hear it over the sounds of gunfire. Across the way from him, a group of traitorous Koreans had taken the high ground on another villa and now raked gunfire on the soldiers below.

Still, some were shouting and pointing up toward Gray Fox.

Oh well. Gray Fox could appreciate an audience.

He took one quick strike with the sword when Kim held his hand up defensively.

The blade sailed through his wrist and dug through his jaw, dropping both to the ground.

Kim wailed in horror as he bent over and picked the pieces off the ground. Only when he had a handful of fingers and his jaw did he look back up again with eyes filled with horror.

Gray Fox used the next swipe to sheer the top of Kim’s head off, but there was a reason people never aimed for the skull.

The blade got stuck halfway through and the fat bastard flailed around like a fish out of water. Gray Fox delivered a powerful kick that sent Kim sailing off the side too.

More gunfire grew in the distance even as the antiaircraft guns went off, turning the incoming plane into a massive fireball.

Of course Zhao wasn’t on it. Only an idiot would have fallen for that.

But it had served as a distraction.

And now soon to be Grand Marshal Park—or whatever the hell the Koreans called their king—would assume command from his dead nephew.

Gray Fox would not be here for it, though. Killing was of little concern to him, but war was not a game he enjoyed playing.

There was a groan of metal springs as he folded the blade back into his arm and entered into the tower again. Soldiers were already loudly storming the building. Of course, they’d find the trail of bodies he left behind, but he knew they wouldn’t find him as he moved toward the interior window facing the urban center of the airstrip.

He was Gray Fox after all, and he would fade like the east wind.

WE ARE CURRENTLY SECURING the command node and will soon have control of the Dragon facilities. We will immediately support your men in transporting all necessary functions of the program. Let it be known that Korea remains loyal to the South Asian Alliance and all traitors will be dealt with.

Zhao read the words on his handheld device before sliding it back into his pocket. He steadied himself on the handrail of the barge currently carrying him through the rough waters. His security didn’t want him to be out in the air and exposed, but he was confident that no one would be aware of his presence.

Sometimes, the best way to remain hidden was to walk in the open.

He took a moment to look at the sea. He always enjoyed the view despite not being a fan of sea travel. It never sat right with his stomach.

It was unfortunate that his preferred mode of transport was now a smoking wreckage in Korea—an unavoidable sacrifice, he supposed. It had served its purpose.

The seas were treacherous these days. Zhao had read the reports on what happened to Long Island.

He looked into the water to see if anything was stirring, but there was nothing . . .

For now.

It was not hard to imagine death rising from the deep.

Zhao had enough problems to worry about beyond sea monsters. The navy was still loyal to Beijing; that meant Zhao controlled the seas and that was vital, as many goods and fuel had to be imported from foreign trade. In time, he could strangle the breakaway provinces, but their lands fell in the few areas that did produce food and fuel in China.

Further still, there was no time. No time for anything at all.

He looked to the water again.

The dark blue may be empty now, but sooner or later it would not be, and that would be the end of the billions of souls in the South Asian Alliance reliant on Zhao’s leadership and power.

Actions must be taken swiftly.

He swallowed a pill and took a sip of water to help with the motion sickness.

If all was going well, a Red Guard commando team would be helping General Park secure leadership in Korea. Zhao had made a deal with him and had carried out his end of things.

“You kill Kim and the Dragons are yours,” Park had agreed.

Zhao had made his move, and now all there was left was to see if Park really had the gall to hold all the little brittle pieces together.

So long as the Dragon program was relocated, Zhao’s concerns of Park’s power would be unimportant.

None of that was Zhao’s focus now. He was on his way to Taiwan, the jewel of their sea trade, with sophisticated defenses.

He had come in secret. Only a handful of loyalists knew he was no longer in Beijing.

The loyalty of the governors still under his influence was questionable, and if they believed he had run away, that might be all the cause they needed to switch sides.

Zhao had not made a coward’s run.

Now was a time for speed, and some things moved faster in person.

The ship burped out a blast of its horn as it docked into a very humble harbor. The ship bobbed from the approaching waves as Zhao stepped off. A pair of dressed-down guardsmen followed behind him.

A single member of the Taiwanese governorship stood waiting. Last time Zhao had visited, many years ago, a large ensemble with flags and banners met him, but he didn’t have time for such things and ordered the Taiwanese to greet him discreetly. He wished the meeting to go unnoticed.

But this man had come with a powdered white face and flowing green robe.

“Chairman Zhao,” the dignitary said. “Welcome to—”

“Why are you in formal garb? I requested discretion. I would have preferred you in rags to this,” Zhao responded. “And do not bow or refer to me by my title.”

The man raised his head. “My apologies, uhh, Zhao, but I believe it’s been some time since you’ve visited us. Such customary clothes will not be eye-catching in our city. And while I appreciate your desire for discretion, the lack of a prepared schedule has left us . . . unprepared?”

“Did you bring the car?”

“I did,” the man said.

“Then you did enough. Let’s get in. I have to speak with the American ambassador.”

HIS NAME WAS GRAY FOX, but he had others.

Curse of the East Wind was one.

He’d gained that name and reputation during the previous Chinese civil war that saw the likes of Zhao take power.

It had all gone back to his younger days when he joined the royalist academy before even puberty. They were hammered with a mind of loyalty and combat effectiveness.

Most had gone on to be part of the royal guard, but not Gray Fox. He’d been given over to war.

And the regime was always at war.

But when the civil war broke out, and the royalists lost, his master was thrown screaming from the roof of his own building.

And with the leader now dead, many surrendered.

Not Gray Fox.

Not the Curse of the East Wind.

He swore an oath to the old regime.

It didn’t matter that they were all dead. Perhaps there was a nephew or a cousin or an uncle squared off in some corner of the world waiting to take power, but that wasn’t the job of Gray Fox.

He was a hunter.

And long after the war ended, he continued to hunt.

He would never stop.

Moving in and out, unseen, just like the east wind.

Gray Fox and others like him had no hope of toppling the People’s Republic of China; the best they could reasonably expect was an honorable death. It didn’t matter. They had an oath and they meant to carry it unto death.

But the oath wasn’t only to the man who sat on the throne.

It was to the glory of China, to defend it from its enemies.

And though Zhao had been the man to trap him and bury him in a hole, Gray Fox was still an honorable man, and he would carry on to fight the enemies of China.

But in the shadows of the trees, on the edge of a Korean mountainside with a full view of the violence below, he was beginning to get second thoughts.

It was strange how killing always got the mind working for him.

He could see facilities where the Dragon Program was being removed to be resettled in Taiwan.

Gray Fox had secured Zhao’s political future.

He drew out a cigarette from a pack he’d taken off a dead man and put it between his lips.

Maybe it was those years in the hole or all the new shit they plugged into his brain, but Gray Fox wasn’t thinking as clearly as he used to.

He took a long drag as Chinese Red Guard CAG soldiers escorted men and women in hospital gowns up from the bunker to a waiting armored personnel carrier.

His communicator buzzed. He looked to see that it was Zhao. He shoved it back into his pocket.

He wasn’t a genius by any means, but men didn’t whisper fears of Gray Fox because he was an idiot.

The human weapon program was kept here in Korea under conditions that kept it out of the watchful eye of the Dragon currently eating the ass end of China.

But now they were out.

The Dragon would feel them. He would be hunting them.

Gray Fox stuffed the cigarette into his metal arm and flicked it away.

That meant the enemy of China would be distracted.

His communicator buzzed again. Without looking, he pulled it out of his pocket and crushed it, leaving the remains on the ground.

He was no one’s lapdog.

He was Gray Fox.

ZHAO SLID his handheld into his pocket.

He couldn’t hide the minor look of irritation on his face.

“Trouble?” the Taiwanese dignitary asked.

“None,” Zhao responded, but that was not true.

Gray Fox was either dead or AWOL.

Dead was certainly Zhao’s preference.

Gray Fox was a mad dog, and Zhao didn’t want to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life, short as it may be.

He set those thoughts aside as he waited inside the simple office within the American embassy. There was a knock at the door when the American ambassador entered.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, but I—” He saw Zhao and stopped in his tracks. He looked between Zhao, the dignitary, and the two armed men leaning against the wall behind him.

“Good afternoon, Ambassador,” Zhao said in English.

“What the hell is this? I thought I was meeting a shipping official.” He looked as if he was half considering stepping back out the door.

“With all that’s going on these days, I thought it best to speak in private. As you can understand, discretion is necessary.”

“Doesn’t look very private to me. Do I need armed support too?”

“Understandable,” Zhao said. He then spoke in Mandarin. “You all wait outside.”

The dignitary stood from his seat, bowed, and walked out with the two guards.

The ambassador held the door for them and closed it when they were gone. He took a cautious step forward and sat across from Zhao. “All right, now that I’m sure you’re not going to shoot me in the head, what can I do for you, Chairman?”

“We need to put an end to the infighting.”

The ambassador scoffed. “I agree, but what do you want me to do about it? If I know anything about your history, it’s that there’s nothing more Chinese than civil war.”

Zhao took the insult but exhaled sharply. “The Americans need to declare their side and help me put an end to this so we can focus on the creatures.”

The ambassador shook his head as he leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. “Zhao, I’m getting calls day and night from your people and theirs, each trying to swing us one way or the other. President Winters is unsure what the hell he’s supposed to do.”

“After our agreements, Winters is thinking of abandoning us?”

“It’s not like that. You have the nukes, the navy, and the loyalists, but they have the bulk of the army, Zhao. A China divided is a China that can be eaten, and frankly, we’re not sure what you can offer.”

“The army is secondary to the Dragon Program, and I’ve secured it. It’s in the process of relocating here to Taiwan. They can’t win the war without them.”

The ambassador uncrossed his arms and leaned in, raising his eyebrows. “What do you mean? Wasn’t it settled in Korea? If anything, I was getting rumblings that Kim was swinging toward the breakaway provinces.”

“Yes, which is why I made a deal with his uncle, General Park. Kim is dead now and a team of my Red Guard is seeing to the relocation of the Dragon Program.”

The ambassador rubbed his chin. “Hmm . . . All right, say we declare our support for you, why do you think their army would suddenly give up?”

“They won’t. We need a neutral party to engage them in negotiations. If President Winters makes it clear that America will not support them then I believe we can bring them under control again.”

“I’ve heard their complaints, Zhao. They’re afraid. They say you’ve rounded up their sons and daughters for this war, while Beijing and Taiwanese contribute little more than officers to command the dying. I’m sure they’ll be concerned about further retributions should they agree to follow you once more.”

“Do they want me to arm doctors and engineers with rifles? It may be true that their people are armed to fight. They produce men with strong backs. Beijing produces intellectuals. Regardless, if the traitorous Dragon can be killed, I’m sure their fears will relax. As for retribution, if President Winters is willing to offer them sanctuary, then I am willing to allow all rebellious governors to leave China and no actions will be taken against their successors.”

The ambassador nodded along as Zhao spoke. “How do you plan to kill the Dragon? You’ve been trying to kill him this whole time.”

“That is another favor I must ask.”

“It’s an awful negotiating position to come with both hands wide open, Zhao.”

“Maybe, but if China falls, then you will never end this plague. It will spread among all the South Asian Alliance.”

“Fair point. So what do you need, then?”

“Wounded as I may be, I am not without my agents. I’m aware that she’s back.”

“Who?”

“The Red Bitch. Alice Winters.”

The ambassador’s eyes widened. “You’re asking me for her?”

“Yes. Send the Red Bitch to kill the Dragon.”

16

THE DUST KICKED up on the desolate road leading into Butte, Montana. Towering, snow-tipped mountains hung not far away, and a cold chill blew in.

A stay-at-home order was in effect, but Butte was a small town to begin with and its roads were typically quiet.

They weren’t today.

Here, in the cold, while the residents watched from cracks in shuttered blinds or behind boarded-up windows, the roads hummed with life as troop carriers moved toward the Bison Point garrison.

Butte hadn’t seen this kind of activity in decades. Nervous residents whispered behind their closed doors while trucks and tanks moved about and helicopters flew overhead.

And though most couldn’t tell you where Butte was on a map, it did have some importance. It sat at the juncture of I-90 and I-47. It was the hub that connected three western states.

The military knew this.

So did the Janissary.

The men had machines and weapons, and they were quick studies of war, but the Janissary was a son of conquest.

He was bred for war.

There was no need to fight the men and their machines in open fields. He left that to his god-king—the Archon.

The Janissary’s strategy was to stretch the men thin and pull them tighter and tighter until their lines . . .

Snapped.

The sun was high and a glare hit down on the land. A set of eyes high up on the Janissary’s head closed while a smaller set opened near his cheeks and he watched a line of soldiers and machines roll into place.

In his mind’s eye, he felt his brothers crawl beneath the dirt of the road, his little strands of influence stretching toward their souls and bodies.

The Janissary waited and he counted.

One.

A tank rolled over the ground, its tread heavy on the road and digging grooves.

Two.

A troop carrier passed over the center of the road, the back end of it open with armed soldiers staring from the back.

Three.

A fuel truck with its large tanker passed right above the patch of burrowed cronux.

Now.

The Janissary saw through a new set of eyes as a claw burst through the surface and a fat-bodied creature with acids and chemicals churning inside its body burst through the crust.

It howled as the fires inside its belly heated until it popped.

There was a blue-green explosion that caught the fuel truck and set it into flames, doubling the explosion.

The flames hit the troop truck and the soldiers within.

The cronux swarmed out of the ground and through the flames, their claws digging through the dirt and wrecked metal. The Janissary felt the heat and heard the screams as clearly as if he were there himself.

A Humvee at the back of the line pulled forward and a soldier popped out of the top to grab onto the mounted machine gun. He fired rounds at the ground as more cronux swarmed from the flames. The top layer of their skin cooked, but it didn’t matter—their numbers would overwhelm the men.

The Janissary looked up to see a dark blob take to the sky and flow toward the city. It swarmed down and pelted the soldier on the mounted machine gun. He flailed as the birds hit him, but another soldier on the ground raced forward and held up his torch, spitting flames at the creatures.

The Janissary cast his gaze from the melee and toward a patch of dirt just off the road.

Now.

A second hole opened, and while the soldiers were distracted, a second wave crawled from their tunnels to the surface. They rushed from the hole and toward the buildings where people hid behind their thin walls.

The Janissary watched it all for a moment longer before he turned away.

He expected that the soldiers would defeat this group, and perhaps save most of the town, but the time they spent securing it would delay their movements.

He only wished to harry, not to destroy.

The Janissary disappeared into the tunnel behind him. His small eyes closed and his larger eyes opened as the path darkened.

He was here today, but in a few days, he could be on the other side of the continent.

The key was constant movement and disruption. Not allowing the enemy . . .

The Janissary stopped.

He felt an itch.

Not in this world, but in the other—the hive mind.

There in the darkened shadows of the hive mind, the Janissary saw a bright light combing through the halls.

He waited for a moment, and then took a step forward.

ELI SAT on the couch with a datapad in hand. Cora walked around the room behind him, talking with someone on the phone.

A vid played on the screen, but Eli wasn’t really watching it.

He only pretended so Cora wouldn’t worry.

He wasn’t even there, not really.

His body was on the couch, but his mind was in the dark.

The hive mind was a strange place, but he was born into it and had an understanding that even his mother wouldn’t comprehend.

He moved in it, but some places were strange—sticky, even. It was like the time it rained and he forgot his boots and the mud had gotten so thick it sucked at each step, slowing him down and tiring him out.

That was this place.

Each step he took felt the world grab him like a thick layer of mud he sunk into.

There were shadows here, and dark things loomed in them. Things that watched him and felt his presence.

There was a weight in this world too, one that could draw someone in a direction.

Eli was heading in that direction.

He was trying to find the Janissary.

If they could find him, then he could tell Roles and Roles would kill him.

And maybe . . . maybe . . .

His mother could come home.

But the hive mind was big and it was twisting and it was very dark. It would be so easy, so very easy, for a boy like Eli, who didn’t know his way to simply get . . .

Lost.

17

JOHN HAD a datapad in hand and it displayed a sheet of numbers and charts. “What is this? What am I looking at?” he asked as he sat across from a wide-eyed, glowing staffer he barely knew. Much of the staff were still carryovers from the previous administration, and John had only been able to fill critical roles with his own people.

“Those are your numbers,” the man said with some excitement. “We’ve got the polling stats back and the slogan We All Bleed Red has really put your numbers up. And that speech you gave last night really riled people up. They’re fully supportive of you. We ran those numbers against, well, against a few of the senators you rounded up last week and the people seem supportive of the idea. That, or at least disinterested.”

Maybe it was the lack of sleep or maybe his focus was still on those casualty numbers he was reading before, but John wasn’t fully processing it.

“Disinterested?”

“Oh yeah, we were concerned the actions might hurt your numbers, so we had to look.” John set the datapad down on the table and rubbed his face with one hand; his other squeezed into a fist before relaxing.

“How did you get this?” he asked in as calm a voice as he could muster.

“Sure as hell wasn’t easy. We’ve had to dispatch locals to camps and military bases in some cases, but we’ve still had access to the major untapped areas.”

“You mean to tell me that this administration—my administration—has been spending resources to find out what my poll numbers are?”

The man’s grin melted away with his confidence as his eyes widened.

“Excuse me, Mr. President, I manage the presidential public relations team. It’s my job to help make sure your message is well carried. You and I have been introduced but I fear you might have been too distracted to remember.”

“Distracted?” John rose from his seat. He snatched the datapad off the table and threw it against the wall.

The man shuddered and held his arms up defensively.

“You want to help me? Don’t ask for fucking favorability numbers! Go call those camps and ask them if they have enough water. The highways are out and the skies are a mess, but they need to know we’re on it. That we haven’t forgotten about them. Now get the hell out of my office before I have you thrown out!”

The man scurried to his feet and made for the door as John yelled at his back.

“And if you ever, ever approach me with this again, I’ll have you arrested and detained for abuse of public resources during a crisis, so help me God!”

The man plunged out the door, leaving it hanging open. John took a few breaths to steady himself as he adjusted his shirt collar.

Roles peeked inside. “Mr. President,” he said with a respectful nod. “I do believe that’s the first time I’ve heard you say fuck.”

John grunted. “It was all I had not to throw the datapad in his face. I just had to detain a governor for protesting martial law. We have a colonel assuming control of state duties.”

“Well, you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet, don’t you? Are you ready for the meeting?”

John nodded. “Yeah, I just stopped here to talk with that pissant.” He gestured toward the door. “He told me it was about morale concerns. Hell with it, though. Is Linda still out there? He snatched up his coat and tugged it on.

“She’s right here,” Roles said, stepping aside as the secretary leaned in.

“I heard everything,” she said, her eyes wide.

“Good. Then arrange for him to be reassigned on crisis control. Put him on call duty.”

“So you were serious about him calling to ask about supplies?”

“As serious as a heart attack,” John said and followed along with Roles.

Linda hurried off.

John and Roles started down the hallway.

“Got off the phone with President Villanueva, he’s requesting the Texas Guard to make an excursion into Mexico. He says they’re overrun but doesn’t have any hard numbers.”

Roles frowned. “I suppose you told him our highways were shot to hell and back, so we’ll be sending thoughts and prayers instead of soldiers?”

John scoffed. “I did. I told him I’ll contact our South American post and give them clearance to enter Mexico, but he’ll have to negotiate with the post captain. That’d put them on the wrong side of the country and at least a few days out, but it’s the best we can do. I’ve got too many eggs to fry to cook breakfast for anyone else.”

“Hmm, that’s a new one,” Roles said. “That a rural New Yorker expression?”

“Who knows. I heard my grandmother say it a few times.”

“Leave it to gram gram to have the right words to use for the apocalypse.”

Despite his exhaustion, John chuckled.

They exited into a clear night sky and hurried across an airfield. Large towers had been erected around the perimeter and soldiers with dogs made rounds while squads patrolled.

A group of men stopped to salute John and he tipped his head to them as he passed.

“Unfortunately, I have a few more eggs to crack into your skillet,” Roles said as they continued walking.

“If you’re asking me for assistance, then it must be a hell of a thing.”

“I got contacted by the Chinese. The other Chinese. The Governor of Hubei had staff connect with my office.”

John stopped in his tracks. “What do they want?”

Roles gave him a flat look. “They sent a list of numbers. They wanted to prove they’ve got the firepower. They made a formal request that sounded a lot like a demand that we stop supplying Zhao’s regime and instead offer support to them.”

“What the hell does that mean? You think they’re desperate enough to take some kind of action against us?”

Roles shook his head. “Not a chance in hell. Zhao controls the navy, the ports, the nukes, and their Dragon Program. They couldn’t do anything to touch us.”

John hissed out a breath. “No, but they have the bulk of the military. Zhao can pen them in, but they’re the only ones who can stop China from getting eaten.” John looked off as he started to consider.

“What are you thinking?” Roles asked.

“That Japanese commando with Westwood, he was active in China, wasn’t he?”

Roles nodded. “He was.”

“Good. Westwood will need someone who can speak Mandarin.”

“I’ll get to it then,” Roles said.

John gave him a flat look. “You didn’t mention Zhao.”

“Should I have?”

“Imagine that, I actually got something before you did.” There was no pleasure in John’s voice. “The Chairman sent a message through my team. He wants Alice.”

Roles drew in a sharp breath and watched John carefully.

“And what’d you tell him?”

“I didn’t say a damn thing yet. This guy—the Dragon . . . They said he killed an Archon and ate its brain.”

“That’s the word on the street. Then he had a toss-up with the one here now and beat it too.”

“Jesus Christ . . .” John whispered. “We haven’t been able to dent that. And it practically killed Alice before. How the hell could she take on the thing that beat that?”

“You want my honest assessment?”

John nodded. “Why do you think I brought it up?”

“She’d lose. He’d kill her. Then we’re really up shit creek.”

John huffed and shook his head. “I know. I know. But the Dragon will eat them alive. We’re getting bled out, but he’s eating whole chunks of the country, isn’t he?”

“Somewhere near forty percent of the country is lost. That’s the less-inhabited portion. The refugees have fled east. But that means all the small towns and cities are filled with people on the streets. When that bubble pops, it’ll pop big.”

“And that’ll flood India, Pakistan, and a dozen other nations. In the blink of an eye, sixty percent of the world is gone.”

“Which is why we can’t let it spread beyond their borders,” Roles said. “The only thing we have to decide is when. Even without the civil war, the best we can hope for is that they hold long enough to buy us time. Maybe Westwood can help them make nice and we can scratch out a little more time, but sooner or later, decisions have to be made.”

“I know what you’re suggesting.”

“Because you’ve already thought of it.”

“Of course I have, but how the hell could we do that? Even if we did launch at them, they might have automation to trigger retaliatory strikes. We’d finish off the human race faster than those creatures can.”

“Not necessarily. If we launch the nukes while they’re distracted, they might only be able to fire off a few, even if it is automated. We’ll fry the population before they can get infected and burn up most of the horde. Some of their elites will survive, but they’ll be severely diminished.”

“I can’t do that,” John said with a shake of his head.

“You did it in California already, didn’t you?”

“And I’ll hate myself for it for the rest of my life.”

Roles shook his head. “It’s your call.”

“It is, and I’m not ready to give up on anyone yet. The Japanese and the Europeans have each launched their own Ghost Programs and Zhao’s team told me they’re speaking with other Asian delegations. The Indians are cooking up something and I want you to prepare a briefing for our African mission team and find a home base for a program there. We’ll fight this until there’s nothing left to fight with.”

“I hope you’re right, Mr. President.”

“You don’t have to hope for anything. You just follow orders.”

Roles chuckled and tipped his head. “I’ll see to it right away.”

John nodded and turned toward the building they had been approaching. Soldiers standing guard opened the door for him. John cast one last look at Roles.

“One more thing . . . If you don’t think Alice can kill the Dragon, find me something else that can.”

Roles lifted his eyebrows.

“Yes, sir.”

18

MILES ZIPPED up his jacket and stared down at a datapad filled with endless reports on the Chinese and their situation. He rubbed his tired eyes and took a moment to look out the window of the fat belly military plane and see the clouds speeding by. With a sigh, he turned to Endo.

“Mate, no matter how many times I read this, I’m still not going to remember anyone’s name.”

“I suppose I can help you with that. We’ll be meeting with Xu, Governor of Hubei and leader of the opposition,” Endo said without looking up. He had a set of CAG laid out on a tarp and was going through the pieces.

Miles groaned. “Mate, it ever occur to you that there are no Americans on this American diplomatic mission? We got the pilot and a handful of gladhands and that’s it.”

“Not American, but you are part of the administration.”

“I still can’t figure out how that happened.” Miles looked out the window again and winced as the sun caught a glare on the window. “I’m really, really starting to hate flying. We practically had our feet on the ground for five minutes before they shoved a diplomatic cable into my hands and had us shipped back around the world again. Honestly, they sent us west just to turn around and send us east. And when the hell did I ever agree to be part of the overseas mission?”

If Endo had any concern at all, he didn’t show it.

Miles groaned and shook his head, but in truth he was happy that Endo was going with him. Who knew what the dumb bastard would do if Miles didn’t keep an eye on him.

Miles had only had one demand before they’d left.

Endo had to be armed.

But he hadn’t expected for the stubborn commando to do his own fitting.

Now Endo made micro adjustments to the settings and function as the pieces rattled around as the plane bumped from turbulence.

Miles sighed and glanced at his report again before deciding to give it a break.

“What a crock of shit,” he mumbled as he stood from the plastic bench. He tossed the report on top of a datapad and stretched. His ass had gone numb and he gave it a rub.

At least he had room to walk around. He groaned as his back cracked and looked around the massive cargo plane. He didn’t know a damn thing about military planes, but this was clearly intended to transport equipment, not a dumbass and his samurai friend. It had a single row of plastic seats bolted to the wall on either side and it was cold as all hell. He shivered and snatched his jacket from the bench. “Your nips freezing off like mine, mate?” He shrugged the jacket on.

Endo grabbed a tool from his laid-out set and worked on the forearm of the armor. “It is a bit cold, isn’t it? But the reasoning made sense. This is much safer than civilian aircraft.”

“Yeah, hardened against EMP, but most of our trip is across the ocean. You really think we have to worry about that all the way out here?”

Endo paused, the gauntlet in his hand with the fingers splayed open. “I don’t know what to expect anymore. Alice and I found . . . very strange creatures out in the wild.” He turned his attention to the armor again and plugged in a digital reader. A series of code ran across it, and he watched it carefully.

It all meant nothing to Miles, though.

“No need to tell me, mate. I’ve seen what they can do. Just saying, the shitheads could have at least given us a heads-up to grab a better coat. My balls keep freezing to the seat.” Miles paced. “Why the hell did we even agree to this? They tell us to jump on a plane without knowing where we’re going and we just skip on like a sack of morons?”

“Sack of morons?” Endo asked as he pulled a CAG sleeve on. He jacked the digital reader into it. It flashed more lines of code as Endo made simple sweeping movements.

“Mate, you know how I get when I’m tired. What the hell are you doing anyway? They said they were going to suit you. They just drop it off on you like that?”

“No, I prefer to make the adjustments myself.” Endo unplugged the digital reader and took up a small, surgical-like tool and worked it under an armor panel.

“Must be a bitch and a half, I imagine?”

“It’s fine. Did you read the datapad yet?”

“You mean this old thing?” Miles grabbed it off the bench. “I’ve given it a glance, but mate, I haven’t even gotten through the printed reports. But all of it’s garbage. Endless briefs on what’s going on. Some sick bastard’s cruel idea of a joke to think they could make me an expert on Chinese politics on a flight over the Pacific. So far the general idea I’ve gotten is that the Chinese are splintering and there’s a governor in Hubi leading the opposition.”

“Hubei,” Endo corrected.

“Innit what I said? Either way, I’m supposed to go tell them all to kiss and make up. How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

Endo shook his head. “You’ll have to hear their concerns and we’ll see what we can do.”

Miles groaned. “At least you speak Chinese.”

“You mean Mandarin.”

“You’re a smooth operator, how about you do most the talking, then?”

Endo glanced up and held the helmet in his hand. “I’ll help you if you need it, but frankly, I’m not much of a diplomat.”

“Mate, have you been listening to a word I’ve been saying?” Miles sighed, went back to his seat, and collapsed down into it. He snatched the datapad up. “Neither am I.”

19

MOLLER FELT uneasy as she slid the headset over her ears and stepped onto the command deck. She scanned the floor and watched the operations. There were forty-two active missions with eighteen preparing deployment, each with a single mission specialist and systems technician on hand and active. Operations were running twenty-four hours a day, every day now, and it had grown past Moller’s ability to keep an eye on them personally. She had to reorganize and delegate command operators for every five active missions. She could see her hand-selected officers moving up and down the aisles of the modules watching over their targeted selection.

It was getting to feel a bit cramped.

But not as cramped as Felicity.

That was true. She was going to be launching soon.

She’d looked over the files of the crew members going with her, but had yet to meet more than a handful of them. It was a tangle of Soviets, Americans, Japanese, and Europeans.

With things moving so quickly, they had to scrape the world for specialists and put them all together under one central command.

Moller was going to be leading the ground operation.

“This wasn’t what I was thinking when I said I’m a field agent,” she’d said to Roles.

“True leaders must bear the burden of leadership. There’s no one else I would trust with this,” he’d told her.

She barely had time to think about it all with training the new officers and overseeing the active Ghost missions. She was tired, but she supposed she could take a rest soon. It wasn’t too much longer and she’d have her ass strapped into a rocket and launched into space where she’d take a nice long cryo nap. With the recent engine upgrades, she could be to Mars in three, maybe even two weeks.

Or it could all blow up.

Yeah, that was a distinct possibility.

Another was the engines could fail and they’d float off course, leaving her in an eternal peace until the systems finally ran out of juice. In which case, she might just die on the spot, or wake up drowning, or—

No. Stop thinking about it. Get your head in the game.

She turned to the console and took back her focus.

Lives were at risk, and if this was in fact the last active operation she’d oversee, then she better give it her full attention. Still, for whatever reason, her stomach was doing flips. For all she knew, that could be because some malfunctioning synthetic organ was leaking battery acid into her stomach lining, or some other bullshit.

That, or it was just nerves.

Cryo death aside, she had enough terrible things to think about.

“Fuck,” she muttered as she cracked open a med stick and dumped it into a glass of water. It fizzed and popped.

She brought the glass up to her eye and watched the oil spread. It looked like the kind of shit they always warned kids not to drink.

She remembered the commercial of the goofy spritz-bottle character that would warn children at the end of her cartoons when she was young.

“Remember kids, this shit’ll kill ya!”

It definitely hadn’t gone like that, but somehow, that’s how she imagined the spritz bottle saying it, or at least that’s how her friends at school always repeated it.

With a sigh, and childhood caution thrown to the wind, she downed the glass in a single gulp and winced when she finished. It definitely tasted like something spilled out of an engine, but supposedly was good for the artificial organs.

“You need another one, Director?” a neatly dressed officer asked.

“No, I’ll be tasting this one for a week.” She handed him the glass. “I think I’d prefer the stomach pain.”

Her screen flashed with a single word.

ACTIVE.

Two small icons, one indicating audio and the other visual, blinked red.

Moller took a sharp breath. Yes, this was her last mission, but it was a fitting one.

Alice was back.

“Open comms,” she said to a technician sitting at the module.

“Confirmed. Patching in,” came the reply.

The red audio icon on the screen flashed green and the corner of the screen activated with a name.

WINTERS.

Moller leaned in on the guardrail of the deck as her headset buzzed and connected.

“Winters, this is Moller, do you read?”

“Yes,” Alice’s voice buzzed in.

“Can you open your video feed for me?”

“Confirmed.”

A second later, the screen activated and Moller could see out from Alice’s CAG helmet. It was moving around and Moller caught glimpses of the inside of the ship and the squad of soldiers with Alice.

Moller straightened up and crossed her arms. “How’s the suit? Still got that new car feel?”

Alice twisted the helmet around until the camera faced her and Moller could see her face.

“Fits like a sock.”

Alice had her hair pulled back but her eyes were focused, her face still.

She was ready.

Moller gave a pleasant huff. “It’s good to see your face. Didn’t think I would again.”

“Yeah, it’s good to hear your voice, even if I can’t see you.”

“Well, how about you clean things up fast there then and fly in for a visit? We’ll catch a drink back at Parker’s place.”

Alice cracked a grin. “I’ll have them load in another cage and drop me off at your front door.”

Moller chuckled as the technician at the module looked over his shoulder. “Director, we’re twenty minutes from the red zone. Reports are that it’s hot.”

She gave him a thumbs-up and looked back to the screen.

“I heard what you said to the psych doctor. You know he flagged you as unstable?”

Alice raised her eyebrows. “Oh yeah? Let's get him in the CAG, then. Someone needs to do it.”

“You’re right there. And you’re not just someone, are you? You’re Alice Winters. And I don’t give a damn why that idiot might have flagged you—I know you’re good. I can tell it in your voice. I’m glad you’re back, Winters. Only regret I have is that I wish I was there with you.”

Alice’s grin widened. “I’ll be sure to bring you back something pretty, then.”

“You know my color. But Alice, the zone is crawling. You’re going to land in hot. The boys with you have deployed with Ghosts before, though. They know the drill. Let them keep point and you work your magic from the rear. There’s a den we think is producing a new type of creature.”

“I read the report, Moller. You call them Scions.” Alice’s face tightened again. “They’re there. I can feel them.”

“Then you know what to do.”

There were two soft beeps indicating that the pilot was preparing to speak.

“Dark Three to drop team. Mission status is green. Time to lock in.”

“That’s your call to dance, sweetheart. The zone is hot, but you’re a killer, Winters. You’re the Red Bitch. Time to rock and roll.”

“Moller?” Alice said.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s kill these motherfuckers.”

She turned the helmet around and snapped it on.

Moller grinned wide as an eagerness overtook her doubts and concerns.

SOMETHING WAS DIFFERENT. Old, but new all in the same. She felt warm. She only realized it when there was a flash of her vitals on the screen.

Her heart was beating again.

Imagine that.

The cage descended on Alice’s shoulders and buckles locked into her CAG.

A squad of soldiers took their positions and locked in with her. She silenced her team comms so she couldn’t hear anything they were saying, but a soldier in CAG across the way from her gave her a thumbs-up.

Alice returned the gesture.

The ship buzzed and shook; Alice knew that meant wind currents were picking up now that they were coming into drop range.

“Hanging in with me, Winters?” Moller asked, her voice buzzing through the comms. “The technician is getting some strange readings from your vitals.”

“Nothing to worry about.”

“You got the report on the Scions, you know what they can do. We got a report out west of one releasing enough energy to knock two jets out of the way. The drop ship can get you in range, but we won’t be able to give you any air support.”

“Understood.”

“These shitheads are hot, though. They’re crawling all over, but our reports are that the energy release signatures are coming from here in an underground chamber. If you can clear the nest, we might be able to shut them down in this region.”

“Confirmed.”

The pilot’s voice buzzed in again. “We’re in for some chop.”

The drop ship shuddered and bumped. Alice saw some of the soldiers clapping their hands or thumping their fists on the cage.

“Winters, we’re getting reports that the ground’s crawling. The pilot is circling again and looking for a clean patch to drop you. When you hit, it’s out with guns blazing, copy?”

Alice squeezed her hands open and closed and steadied her heart with deep breaths.

“Confirmed.”

The pilot’s voice cut in. “Found you all a nice little bald patch. Chew a little ass for me, will you? Drop in ten.”

The ship shifted as the pilot steadied for the drop.

“Wait, hold drop,” the pilot said. “I’m reading hostiles in the sky. It’s unsafe. I’m routing to exit red zone.”

“Negative Dark Three, hold course,” Moller said. “Winters, what’s your call?”

“They won’t be a problem,” she answered.

“You heard her, Dark Three. This is Director Moller giving you clearance for the drop.”

There was a moment of silence before the pilot replied, “Confirmed. Activate drop.”

The ground beneath Alice’s feet groaned and slid away. A strong wind blew in enough to rattle the cage.

“You meatheads ready? I love this part.” The pilot laughed.

There was a loud click that shook the back of Alice’s cage and the whole thing shot out. Wind raced up through the open portions and rattled the frame.

It was dark out and Alice could see the moon hanging in the sky. Her CAG helmet instantly switched to night vision putting everything in shades of black and gray. She closed her eyes and focused.

Her mind reached out and she felt the flock of birds swarming toward them. Alice’s eyes snapped open in their direction and she whispered a single word.

“Die.”

The specks in her night vision poured down like they all hit an invisible wall and fell to the ground.

A larger beast like a winged demon smashed into Alice’s cage. She looked up to see it open its jaws and show its fangs as it reared its arm back.

Alice twisted her arm to bend her elbow and made a fist. She slammed it against the cage. Her mind hit like a wrecking ball and threw the creature off with explosive force.

More were coming in and she closed her eyes again.

Within her mind, her fingers reached out into their bodies, grabbing them by the dozens and pulling tight the little red strands that held the hive mind together.

She saw snarling faces and could feel the wind on their wings as they swooped in to intercept the cages.

On the surface, Alice felt bloated things with bellies full of acid tense their powerful legs in anticipation of a target.

She grabbed them all and felt their soft, little bodies between her fingers.

Then she squeezed.

The wings on the flying creatures burst like kite paper against a jet engine, and their bodies fell—dead before they hit the ground. The suiciders with acid-filled guts popped like water balloons, sending hot death to everything around them. Hundreds of other howls filled the chambers of the hive mind as their bodies melted.

Alice’s cage slammed into the ground with the shocks absorbing the brunt of the force. There was a familiar snap as the door blasted open.

The ground, still hot and burning, sizzled from the acid.

Alice stepped onto a melted skull, feeling it crack like soft, boiled chicken bones.

She thumbed up on the receiver to her team.

“Careful where you step,” Alice said and clicked it off again.

She stepped out into the darkness with the black-and-white glow of night vision from her helmet. On the ground, melted bodies quivered with dying life and new horrors poured up from massive holes, ready to stop the attackers.

Far overhead, the drop ship made another pass and released green flares that burned high in the sky, casting away the darkness.

Alice’s helmet switched off from night vision in an instant and she saw the land in color bathed with green glowing light.

The squad of soldiers with her stormed out of their cages, rifles up and firing, their flashes giving light to the shadows and creatures racing toward them.

The drop cages stood behind them like tombstones as the hills came alive with movement.

Dead men rose up, their rotten bodies reanimated by the parasites. They came in waves, hoping to flood Alice with their numbers.

She need only raise her hand and gesture to cast them aside. They parted before her and fell dead beneath the green flare light.

Her rifle hung loose on a strap, but her hands held death as she moved forward, the unseen force of the hive mind drawing her toward the nest.

The ground shook as a mighty beast that laid beneath unburied itself. It had a mouth with three jaws that opened wide, showing the inside of its fanged guts.

Alice planted her foot and thrust her open hand at it. The beast stumbled backward as if it hit in the face. She yanked her hand down and her mind was a leash upon its neck, dragging it off its feet. It toppled over like a punch-drunk boxer and the soldiers pumped rounds into its belly, tearing the flesh and making the meat pop. Alice yanked her hand back and a hole exploded in its side with steaming cords of brown guts pouring out.

A flock of birds descended on them and one soldier got caught as they pelted him. Alice waved her hand and they raced into a rock side with their soft bodies.

More creatures were coming, so many that Alice felt her control begin to drown as they grew thick against her mind’s grasp and stole her ability to take their lives.

“There!” Alice screamed and pointed toward a large chamber in the ground as she ran toward it.

The soldiers came up alongside her, firing into the breach.

She entered the mouth and saw a long, dark chamber that turned down at a sharp angle. The light from the green flares did not touch the shadows inside the caverns and her helmet vision adjusted to accommodate.

Alice took the first step in, one hand up and the other behind her, digging into the dirt as she inched in.

“Winters, ease back. Let the soldiers take point,” Moller’s voice buzzed over the comms.

Alice’s heart beat faster.

“I can feel these fuckers,” she hissed.

“Understood, but pull back. We don’t need you storming in.”

Alice kept forward, her fingers cutting into the dirt as she stared into the darkness, feeling the movement before she could see it. A rock loosened underneath her lead step and she lost her footing. She slipped onto her hip and slid down into the hole.

“Dammit, Alice, pull back!”

“Moller, shut the fuck up,” Alice said as she scrambled to her feet. The soldiers came skidding down beside her. Her head snapped toward the wall next to them. There was an explosion of dirt and a massive mouth popped open with snaking tendrils racing from its maw. Alice stumbled backward, but thrust a hand forward and yanked.

The burrowing creature’s massive mouth widened more until the bone snapped and it gagged as it spit out its insides. The soldiers fired into its open mouth and it thrashed as it tried to pull away, but Alice held it still.

The ground rumbled and she felt more digging near them. Her gaze traced a wall of dirt and she threw a fist through the air.

The creature burst through the hole, frenzying in a panic.

Alice showed her teeth and screamed as she fought with the creature to hold it still. The soldiers pumped rounds into it until it eventually sagged and died.

She reached over to her gauntlet and toggled a switch. It opened her external speakers so the soldiers could hear her.

“On me!” She snapped up her rifle, flipping on the mounted light.

The tunnel leveled off and Alice quickened her pace down on the uneven ground, her rifle light guiding the way. A new wave of creatures boiled up from a turn in the hole, so many at once, crawling on all edges of the tunnel that there was no space between them.

Everyone fired, including Alice. The rifle belted against her shoulder and spat out rounds. The wave of creatures kept coming and she dropped the rifle, letting it hang loose once more.

She held both hands up in fists and pushed against the mob.

The creatures screamed and panicked as their bodies crushed against her will. Every muscle in her body tensed as the force grew, with more creatures joining in and threatening to burst over her control.

Alice let one hand go slack and the weight of their numbers shook her body. She planted one foot forward and held them. The soldiers kept firing, but at this point, their bullets only crashed into dead meat.

She thrust her open hand forward, and in her mind’s eye, she grabbed the creatures in the back, holding both ends of the wave.

Alice slammed her foot down and ground her teeth as she pressed her hands together, and felt the horrible, brittle little lives of the creatures crush and break beneath her will. They fell away and slipped back down the hole. The tension snapped and Alice bowled forward, almost losing her footing.

The broken bodies slid down, creating an opening. Alice leaned up and took two breaths before snapping her rifle up once more. “Let’s go.”

The team went over top of the meat, their boots sinking into the bodies, with some jittering with life as the dead nerves twisted and old muscle fired.

The soldiers stopped and fired into the creatures that hadn’t stopped moving as Alice went straight through the crowd.

Alice stumbled off the back of them, her boots caked with blood and dirt. The tunnel widened into a dugout chamber like a homemade bomb shelter made by overgrown rats.

Sickly, wet creatures worked mindlessly even as Alice stepped into their home, her hands ablaze within the hive mind. The workers were starving creatures adapted and born without intestines that lived and died only to fulfill their purpose, tirelessly moving around the chamber. They were something like one-armed corpses left to rot in sea water, but the arm jutted directly from their chests, and their heads had only eyes with no need of mouths or ears. Long noodle-like fingers worked over stolen science equipment and medical tools.

Half-buried electrical equipment popped and flashed in the dirt while pools of orange and yellow chemicals churned around it. And in the center of the pool lay the long-legged Scion, its mouth agape and bellowing from the chemical burns eating at its flesh.

Moller’s voice buzzed again. “Oh God . . .”

Barrels of toxic liquids were near it, having been dumped inside. The Scion’s eyes were wide and miserable. Glasses of embedded jars were on the surface of its body with skin growing over it, the contents fizzing and popping or sparking while others glowed. The Scion had long fingers, and one set of arms that picked at its own flesh, grabbing pieces of skin and pulling over the glass, while another set of hands scooped the chemical blend into its mouth.

One of the workers ambled down to the Scion and planted a glass jar into an open wound while another worker held a dull scalpel and cut open a fresh tear on the Scion’s arm.

The Scion tipped its head toward Alice and bellowed loudly.

It was calling for death even as it continued to slave away.

As nothing was moving to attack them, the guns had gone silent and Alice had taken point, daring to step closer.

This is what they want to do to our world.

She felt pity for them.

But it passed.

“Kill them.”

The soldiers opened fire, blasting everything around them.

The workers flailed and popped as they were raked with gunfire.

Alice held a hand out toward the Scion, and for a moment, it reached its hand toward her as if to grab it. She pinched her fingers and it collapsed, no longer to suffer.

She really did pity it, but she could feel its thoughts too.

Even though it begged for death, it was still loyal.

It still hated her.

It still wanted to eat her world.

“Moller? It’s done,” Alice reported.

“Confirmed. Those things are ugly. Status reports on your team confirm they’re all fine. You did great, Winters.”

“Moller?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell the team to get another cage loaded in. I’m going out again tonight.”

ROLES WENT BACK to his office, half ready to pass out.

He yawned and his eyes were heavier than he expected.

“Ahh, shit.” He rubbed his face. As loath as he was to admit it, he was still human and needed sleep.

He’d taken to catching a few hours here and there inside his office when he could with a little pullout bed. He hit the switch for his assistant.

“I’m going to pass out here for a couple hours, Rose. Route my calls to Laydel, but get me if there are any priorities.”

“Yes, sir. But it’s not, Rose, it’s Vaughn. Rose works the day shift.”

Roles frowned and looked at his watch. “Hell, I don't even know what time it is. All right, I’m out.” He hit the button to end the call and stood. He didn’t bother turning the lights off as he moved to the bed but he picked up his hat.

He kicked off his shoes as he settled onto the bed. He placed the hat over his face.

It was a cruel joke that in the twilight of sleep, Roles’ mind often churned out its best ideas.

“Hmm.” Roles pulled the hat off his face and tossed it aside as he sat up.

He hunched at the end of the bed while dumb logic worked away.

“Rock. Paper. Scissors,” he mumbled, wondering if it sounded as insane out loud as it did in his imagination.

It did.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t right, though.

“Oh well,” Roles said as he moved back to the desk and hit the call button.

“Vaughn?”

“Sir, I thought you were lying down?”

“Contact the director’s office and tell them I want to be connected with Alice Winters on a vid screen.”

“Sir, the last report was that she was on drop missions. It could be a while.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Confirmed,” the secretary said and went quiet.

Roles yawned again as he eased into his seat. With a sigh, he folded his fingers atop of his belly and waited, not altogether certain he wouldn’t pass out in the chair. A minute or two passed and he decided to snooze in place until the call got through.

“Sir,” his secretary’s voice buzzed across the speaker again, faster than Roles expected. “I’ve pinpointed her location. She’s been recovered from a drop and is traveling to base. There was a little concern but they’ve agreed to patch you through.”

Roles widened his eyes as he turned to face his vid screen. “Do it.”

A moment later, Alice’s face popped up on the screen. She didn’t look pleased to see him.

“Are you drunk?” she asked.

“No,” Roles said flatly. “Some of us still have to sleep and even shit on occasion. At least you didn’t call me on the toilet, right?”

“Moller is gone,” Alice blurted, her screen flashing and buzzing with static from the drop ship in motion.

“I know. She was reassigned right after your mission with her. What do you need Moller for?”

“The new director, Kings. He’s afraid of me. He won’t give me clearance to head out west. That’s where the Janissary is.”

“If I knew where the Janissary was, I would be the one sending you out west.”

“He’s hiding from me, but I can dig him out. I need you to clear it with Kings and have him send me there.”

“That’s not what I called you for, Alice. The Chinese put in a request. They want you to eat the Dragon. Do you think you could do it?”

Alice glared as she went silent, another flash of static scratched across her screen.

“Yes.”

“That wasn’t as confident as I would have liked.”

“I’ll kill him, Roles, I owe those people at least that. Get me out there.”

“See, that’s what I prefer to hear.” Roles caught a yawn and held up a finger to Alice until it passed. “Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to book them and tell Zhao that he’s going to assemble whatever spare Ghosts he has over there and he’ll meet you in Taiwan. Soon as you get there, you make your plan and take him out. Just don’t—” He stopped to yawn again. “Son of a bitch.” He shook his head. “Just don’t dawdle. We need you back here kicking ass, all right?”

Alice huffed.

“Just arrange it.” The vid cut.

Roles chuckled and pressed the button to end the call.

“So much for sleep,” he mumbled as he hit the call button for his secretary again.

20

THE SUN WAS SETTING but a green haze in the sky made it even more difficult to see as it sparkled and flashed in a way that was nearly blinding when the light hit it right.

It was nuclear fallout. A subterranean reactor here in Huanghe Cheng had overheated; all of its engineers had either fled or died in the takeover.

Gray Fox was sure of at least a few cooked corpses beneath the ground.

The city had fought the onslaught hard, but they broke as all things do when up against the flood.

Now, the cronux crawled through the bones of what remained of the city to pick off the meat.

And the few still alive enough to hide would feel the air growing hot with nuclear waste that burned the skin.

Gray Fox felt bad for any poor bastard boarded up in their room, watching the flesh on their arms bubble and pop.

He looked at his own good arm and saw a patch of big, fleshy bubbles growing.

He’d long since received radiation treatments to help him manage the wastes and resist the poisons to his blood, but even those only went so far.

A day or two here and he might have a new head growing out of his ass.

He hoped to get out just as fast as he’d gotten in. His mechanical legs condensed, shortening his stature as he kept low and leaned forward to a window in a bombed-out apartment building. He used one of his long, pointed, metal fingers to shift the curtain aside.

Down below, in the rubble of the dead city, the Dragon walked openly, his hands held high to his sides. He was unmistakable with his heavy, metal dome, and the tooled appendage rising from his back like a scorpion’s tail.

But curiously, another man walked alongside without any apparent fear.

Gray Fox reached up into his eye and dragged a finger down across the iris.

Click-click-click.

The twist on the mechanical eye made the lens tighten and magnify.

The Dragon was gleeful and shouting, perhaps even singing.

But the man at his side had his arms behind him, and they casually talked as they strolled.

And while Gray Fox had a patch of flesh ready to pop on his arm, they seemed to be not the least bit inconvenienced by the poison belching into the air.

“The fuck is going on . . .” Gray Fox mumbled under his breath.

He let the curtain go loose.

It hadn’t been hard to find the Dragon. Gray Fox only needed to find the screaming and head toward it. Crowds of people moved eastward as the creatures ate their way toward Beijing and the east coast.

Gray Fox could have followed the smell of corpses to locate him.

Locating him was one thing and doing anything about it was entirely another.

Gray Fox moved quietly inside the room to look through a blown-out hole the size of a watermelon. In the sky, waves of birds and winged men circled, their eyes surely combing the ground for any potential prey or danger.

There was no doubt if Gray Fox made the mistake of being seen, it would be the last one he ever made.

He’d been following the Dragon for days now, and that was no easy thing, either. Wherever the Dragon went, a crawling horde followed him, licking and chewing the ground as they passed, sucking away whatever remained of the living.

But Gray Fox was nothing if not resourceful.

And he knew how to pick his moments.

But time was certainly running short.

Gray Fox’s ears tightened when he heard the thump of feet coming up the stairs.

He moved forward with the swiftness of a mouse and extended to a hole in the ceiling. He grabbed it with his mechanical arm and climbed up onto the next floor with practiced ease. There, he nestled close to the wall and listened.

He couldn’t see it, but something had entered the room below. Gray Fox’s trained ears told him that it was only suspicious, as its movements were dull and lazy, not the sharp movements of a creature assured of meat.

Perhaps he hadn’t been as quiet as he thought. He was told that his mechanical organs buzzed in a way that didn’t alert them . . . But who really knew? Or maybe it had his scent or some other inhuman perception.

The creature thumped deeper inside and Gray Fox shifted out the door of the room and into the hallway. To his left was a stairwell and to his right another hallway leading past more doors.

He felt the crack of wood paneling as the creature behind him crawled up the same hole he’d gone through.

In moments, it would be on him, he was sure. Bent low with his head bobbing, he moved down the hallway and took a turn. There was a hole in the wall here that revealed the outside setting sun. It left no shadows to hide in, and whatever shell had hit here destroyed the hallway. Another step forward and his weight might see it all collapse.

There, standing like a fool, he looked to the sky to see if anything would spot him, but luck was with him and all he saw was the green haze. He slid his head toward the corner and saw the edge of the creature’s face come out from the room he’d just left. He slid back and grabbed a broken piece of wood.

He inched toward the corner again, careful as he was sure a groaning floorboard would cost him his life.

He peeked just past the edge to see that the eyeless creature had a head like a nub, split down the middle with rows of teeth. It stood on two legs with a long, snaking tail behind it. With a hiss, it went into a room across the hall, still searching.

Gray Fox moved down the hallway with quickness. He threw the broken piece of board toward the other end and it clattered down the stairs. He dodged into another room.

He didn’t see it, but the creature pounded out of the room and raced toward the stairs.

He gave it ten seconds before he left the room himself.

He was patient, but time was growing short, and each moment was more dangerous than the last.

He had to make his move soon before fate turned its back on him.

THE LIGHT HIT the toxic green haze in a way that Erkin found relaxing. He did a soft dance in its glow. The ground was smoking too, for who knows what reason, and it felt hot even to his boots, but it didn’t slow his one-man dance.

Sometimes, he was just in the mood for dancing.

“Excellent.” The man to his left smiled and clapped his hands.

Erkin turned and bowed.

He was growing to like the man despite his initial efforts to kill him.

The man had just walked in one day and started talking. Erkin stabbed him right in the chest with his tooled appendage. But as black blood oozed out of the man’s mouth, he’d said,

“I’ve come to serve.”

And now Erkin had a friend. One who appreciated his dances.

“Where did you learn that from?” the man asked.

The question stopped Erkin on his feet. All at once, he became aware of the creatures around him crawling through the charred and smoldering bones of the city. Though seeing from all angles, he turned to face the man.

“What did you ask?” He tilted his head.

The man, wearing the skin of a young Han Chinese with the modest clothes of a laborer, frowned. “I asked where you learned to dance.”

A flicker of a thought came to Erkin. A vague image of a woman that came and went.

He ground his teeth as if the memory was playing a game with him and he’d only just missed it.

It felt important.

But maybe it wasn’t. It was hard for him to tell, sometimes.

“I don’t remember,” he answered.

The moment faded and the migraine digging deep into his head returned to the surface. He sneered at the pain and took a deep breath from the irritation, but all that did was cause the toxic fumes to burn inside his lungs. “Uhh,” he groaned as if he’d tasted something bad.

He paced the city, watching it slowly die, and the man joined him.

The helmet leaked again and something that smelled like sewage was dribbling out above his ear.

“This is disgusting,” he said as he tried to wipe it away, but the blood all over his hands only smeared through it.

“Here, let me get that.” The man pulled a rag from a pocket and rubbed it away.

Erkin grinned, showing his red teeth. “You know how nice it is having someone to talk to?”

“I aim to please.” The man stuffed the rag back into his pocket.

Erkin wagged a finger at him. “What was it I was saying before?”

“You were talking about the Dragons. You said you can feel them now. And they’re not far.”

“Ahh, yes.” Erkin held his hands open like claws in front of him. “That’s right. I can feel the little bastards crawling around and squirming toward my brain. I hate them. I really hate them. I told Zhao that if he made even one, Just one, I would kill them all. And him. I’m pretty sure I said that.”

The man leaned down to a dead body with a nice jacket. He started working it off the corpse. He looked back up at Erkin. “But haven’t you been trying to kill them all anyway?”

Erkin considered that thought.

The man rose with the jacket and presented it to Erkin, but he declined it with a shake of his hand, so the man fit it on himself.

“If I may say, it seems that you’ve taken a very casual approach to the killing,” the man said.

Erkin glanced around and took another sharp breath of acidic air. “You think?”

“Oh yeah, you’ve balled up everything here into one big fist and you keep . . .” He smashed one fist into an open hand. “Pounding city after city.”

“Hmm.” Erkin considered as he leaned down and grabbed a discarded arm. “Seems to have worked.” He gestured.

“Certainly. But these little people, they run and run and run . . .” The man made his fingers race. “You likely haven’t even gotten half of them. Maybe even a quarter.”

“I see your point, but what’s the hurry? I’m enjoying myself.”

“Clearly. And what’s the point if you’re not enjoying yourself?”

“I think you understand,” Erkin agreed.

“The problem is, the longer you give them to think about it, the more likely they are to kill you.”

“Hmm.” Erkin rubbed his chin. “I don’t think they can kill me. They’ve tried. On multiple occasions.”

“Ahh, but all things die, don’t they? All but the Mother, of course. And think about it . . .” The man made a face and tapped Erkin’s dome. “Blew your head apart once, didn’t they?”

“You’re right there, and it’s become incredibly annoying.”

A large creature went by them, bellowing loudly. The sound made the migraine stab into Erkin’s head again. He clenched his teeth hard enough that it hurt and held an open hand up and squeezed it into a fist.

The creature bellowed again as it spit up its guts and shuddered before collapsing.

A flock of birds raced down at the sight of free meat and pecked at it. But they too were noisy. Erkin waved his hand and there was a symphony of chirps, squawks, and screams as they popped and fell over.

Erkin frowned again. “Why must everything be so noisy? We’re trying to talk.”

“Perhaps we should go somewhere with a bit more privacy?” the man asked and waved to a bombed-out grocery store.

“Excellent suggestion,” Erkin said and headed that way. “You know, the jacket does look good on you.”

“Thank you, I thought so.” The man neared the grocery store and opened one door while the other barely hung on its hinges.

“Why, thank you,” Erkin said politely and went inside, his boots crunching on broken glass. The store was dark, but that was fine for Erkin. It was the clutter of cans and overturned cereal boxes that were annoying. He swept some aside with his foot and grabbed a small stepladder to sit on.

“Anyway, you were speaking about them blowing my head off,” he said.

“Right, I fear the point is that you may be too easy to find. As was said, you travel as a big, mighty fist. Though, there are of course smaller groups out there ravaging the countryside, the bulk of your army lies here with you.” The man settled into a chair across from Erkin.

“Hmm, yes, you’re right. Sooner or later, they’ll make a bomb big enough to kill me, I suppose. But you know, I have difficulty trusting others. Even you, for example. Now, this is quite a pleasant conversation. Most of the time, when I try to talk with someone, they end up pissing and shitting on themselves—but this is quite enjoyable. I have to admit, though, I’ve thought about killing you at least a few times today. And I could see how you might suggest that I give you a large portion of my army and then I’d be inclined to do it for sure.”

“Suspicion is a necessary attribute for any leader. And you don’t have to worry about me. You can eat my brain after this, if you’d like. I’ve been soaking up intelligence for days now and my brain is ripe. You will find it far more enlightening than usual.”

“Is that so?” Erkin asked with some intrigue.

“Yes, I made my way through a few high-ranking military officials and I found it quite useful.” He patted his belly. “I’m sure you could gather a lot from it yourself.”

“Perhaps that would be useful. I’ll admit, my strategy is not a complex one.” He gave an honest shake of his head. “The few times I’ve eaten someone’s brain, I can’t say I got too much from it. Still an enjoyable experience, though.”

“Understandable. I was grown for this. It will take you time, but you will eventually learn more. For your army, though, I wasn’t suggesting myself, but your Harbingers. I feel you could make better use of them by spreading the line and making a multitude of attacks. Right now, other than your horde here, you have perhaps a few thousand smaller groups out and about. Why not make it twenty thousand? They can’t organize fast enough to defend. And when one group breaks their line . . . pop.” He made an exploding gesture. “Also, I think it may be acceptable for you to pull back from the front line. No need to risk your life. There are others far more suited for dying than you. And then there are those like me. We are not an abundant lot, but we’ve already sown ourselves deep within the lines. Some of my brothers are already at critical locations. Why not let us soften them for you? All you need is to give the command.”

“Don’t you think that takes a lot of the joy out of conquest by making it too easy?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. There’s plenty of conquest to go around.”

“Hmm, I think that—”

The man’s head snapped toward something and he came out of his chair with a quickness. He grabbed Erkin by the arm and yanked him to the side.

A blade sprung out from the shadows behind Erkin and dug into the man’s spine, making him fall over.

Erkin fell to the ground on his back and looked up.

There was a monster—it wasn’t one of Erkin’s—but inhuman all the same. He was a mesh of flesh and metal.

Erkin felt an odd sense of kinship with the machine-man.

“Oh, you’re beautiful, aren’t you?” Erkin purred

Strange, metal legs bent like a wolf’s and a large, mechanical arm with a blade sticking out of it all added to the man’s beauty. His head was big and covered with devices and circuitry to help him manage the equipment.

The machine-man sneered as he reared back with intense strength, hurling Erkin’s friend off the blade and slinging black blood.

Erkin staggered to his feet, his hands out to his sides and his fingers working like a musician on unseen keys.

He was calling the horde.

In no mood to wait, the machine-man charged forward with incredible speed. Erkin bent low and his tooled appendage snapped backward, grabbed a shelf, and hurled it into the air.

The monster leaped over it with ease and swung his blade down. Erkin raised his arm and the weapon dug into his forearm. Blood shot out and a bone poked out.

Erkin roared and bared his red teeth. “You fucker!”

The machine-man pulled back and Erkin’s arm hung loose on the stump, not fully detached.

The next strike came, but Erkin’s tooled appendage lashed up and deflected it with sparks. The weight of the blow threw him off-balance and the machine-man drove his blade forward. It shoved through Erkin’s back.

Erkin gasped and saw the blade tip poking out of his chest.

The machine-man ripped it out from the side, and Erkin’s insides spilled. He fell to his knees with his back to the machine-man. With his dome, he could see all around, and Erkin watched him raise the blade for a final blow.

But he saw something clinging to the machine-man’s leg.

The machine-man stopped and looked down. The man that had been speaking with Erkin was now a crawling blob working its way up the metal wolf leg. The ooze slid under the pants and toward the thigh. The machine-man screamed as the blob had grown dozens of mouths that were biting him. He swung his blade down and cleaved a portion of the blob off. With his human hand, he grabbed below his pants and peeled the blob off. It slid loose with a trail of blood, making the machine-man’s eyes go wide as he ground his teeth. He flung it aside and grabbed his bladed wrist with his other hand. He stepped forward and cleaved down, cracking into Erkin’s head.

He split the dome and black sludge sprayed out hard as if a sewer pipe had been hit. It hit the machine-man in the face, making him wince. The circuitry sizzled and popped from the damage he’d done.

But Erkin grinned because he could feel the dark presence nearing the glass window of the grocery store.

“Time’s up,” Erkin said, the blade still lodged in his head.

A growling beast burst through the window and tackled the machine-man, knocking him over. Other infected men crawled over the glass, cutting themselves but caring little of it.

The machine-man screamed as he was pinned flat and dozens of little mouths worked at him.

“Wa-wa!” Erkin gagged and threw up sludge. “Wait!” He scrambled to his feet, but he was unsteady. He pressed his splintered arm together as brown sludge leaked from his head wound. “Oh, what a relief! I’ve had that migraine for weeks now. Really took the pressure off!”

The machine-man roared and fought to get free.

A large mouth filled with dozens of sharp teeth popped open on the sludge . “Let me eat his brain!”

“No, no brain eating today.” Erkin said, grinning. “You’ve given me some ideas, and now I’ve got a new one . . .” He opened his mouth. A fat parasite edged to his teeth, its wisps flailing.

The machine-man bucked and flailed as Erkin set the parasite in his ear.

The whole room grew silent as Erkin, his monsters, and the dead men all watched carefully.

The machine-man gasped and went still. Moments later, he lifted his head again.

The creatures around him pulled away and Erkin rose to feet as the machine-man stood.

His jaw hung loose and he moaned with the dull stupidity of one of the infected horde.

Erkin snapped his fingers and moved back, sparks still popping on his head. The sludge monster oozed up, a new head formed with rubbery skin.

“Come here, come here.” Erkin snapped his fingers again and the machine-man went forward. “Here’s what I want you to do. Go over to that . . .” He pointed at the sludge man. “And eat its brain.”

Erkin grinned wide.

COLONEL LIANG of the Red Guard had been among the first on site at the Korean bunker that housed the Dragons.

It was a madhouse.

Dr. Qian had been shot and his body left to rot at the entrance. The radiation leak, though minor, had already eaten away much of his face, exposing his skull and hollowed eye sockets.

But the belly was much worse.

The Red Guard poured in and executed the little resistance that there was. Most of the scientists gave up, and as Liang’s men went through the facilities, it became clearer just how unqualified they were for this work without Dr. Qian’s supervision. It was as if the idiot, Kim, thought that snapping his fingers and yelling loudly could make the impossible happen.

The Dragons were in disarray. Some were screaming and violent and they needed to be subdued. Others were catatonic, staring at something that no one else could see. One was covering himself in his own excrement, and they turned the hose on him before they dragged him out.

These are the weapons of China? The mighty Dragons?

Liang had his reservations, but his place was not to question, only obey.

And so he did.

He stayed with them as they moved to Taiwan, and he was there as psychologists and doctors tried to activate them.

Now, they were being deployed and Colonel Liang was going with them. They kept detailed records of everything in order to repeat the necessary steps in the future.

They beached their ship in the south and deployed with five Dragons. Observers noticed a small grouping of the creatures in the area and decided this would make the best test site.

They headed out with the Dragons, each equipped with a CAG vest and helmet but nothing else. Liang himself was unsure how good of an idea it was, as a few of them struggled with the weight of the armor.

When the creatures came, Liang and his men fired at them while the Dragons fought them. A massive creature showed up and killed three.

Liang reported it to Zhao, who replied, “Burn the three bodies and change the official records. We only sent those two.”

21

ONE OF THE most beautiful women Miles had ever met bowed her head to him and said, “Welcome to China.” She stood in a modern white dress in stark contrast to the two larger men behind her in black.

“Oh, yes, thank you for the invitation,” he said with a wince as he blocked the glare from the sun.

She looked between him and Endo. “We were notified that the arriving party would be small, but when security told us it was only two, I was a bit surprised.” She offered a very curt, formal smile.

“Two’s enough, innit? As you can imagine, we’re a bit stretched thin with this and that. But if you’d like, I could ask the pilot and flight crew to join us.” Miles showed his teeth with a wide grin.

The woman’s smile didn’t shift, but it also didn’t touch her eyes. “That won’t be necessary.”

“I was actually joking. Sorry, it’s been a bit of a long flight.”

“We’ve prepared transport to the governor’s mansion.” She motioned toward a classical luxury car with no roof on it. Miles wasn’t much of a car guy, but it looked like something that’d cost a small fortune.

He whistled. “I like it. We ride in style. But I’m a little worried about the trunk space, what with the bags and all.”

“Yes, the security told me. You brought CAG and weapons.” She looked between the two of them again. “It’s not legal nor traditional to carry such things within the city limits.”

“Right, but these are hardly traditional times, are they?” Miles plastered on another grin as he shrugged. “Who knows when something with an eye up its ass will turn up to show its teeth.”

“Certainly,” she finally said. “The men will bring your bags.”

“We’d be more comfortable carrying them ourselves, if it’s all the same to you.” He offered a sincere grin.

She bowed. “If it pleases you.”

“Massively pleasing,” Miles said, and returned the gesture. He hit Endo with the back of his hand. “Right then, mate, I brought you in for the heavy lifting, didn’t I?”

The two headed back toward the luggage cart.

“Being a bit of an ass, aren’t you?” Endo said quietly.

“Mate, I’d love nothing more than for her to call me a cunt and give me an excuse to hop back on that plane. Besides, I’m not going anywhere where I can’t hide behind you if need be. But you know, was I supposed to bow like that back there?”

Endo flashed his eyes at Miles. “No.”

“Bloody hell, mate, next time tap me on the shoulder or something so I don’t look like such an arse,” Miles said and grabbed his bag. “I’m far all right with being a bit of a bastard, but moron is something I’d like to avoid.”

“Will do.” Endo had to crouch to grab his duffel . It was packed tight with the CAG. He hefted it onto his shoulder without so much as a grunt.

Miles grabbed his own bag and hung it over his shoulder.

The woman watched them approach, her posture never changing. She glanced at one of her men and spoke Mandarin.

The man rushed over to the car and opened the trunk.

“Gentlemen.” She gestured.

As they headed over, Miles appraised the countryside and breathed deep. “Ahh, I love the air. Got a bit of a smell to it, what is that?”

“Manure, likely. We are an agricultural economy,” the woman answered.

“That what that is? Never thought cow shit would smell so nice.”

The woman didn’t answer as they walked, but Endo leaned forward and tapped Miles on the shoulder as he came up alongside him. “You’re doing it again.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Miles said, brushing him off, and then whispered, “Being thrust into the world of politics after a lifetime of talking about Bigfoot leads to a difficult transition.”

They put their things in the truck, but it wouldn’t close with Endo’s bag. The woman watched patiently, her hands folded neatly in front of her.

Miles put his hands on his hips. “That’s the problem with luxury, innit? They never give you the trunk space.” He flashed a grin at the woman.

“My man will handle it.” She made a gesture and spoke Mandarin again. The man hurried off. “Please have a seat.” She gestured toward the car once again.

Miles went around the car and reached for the handle on the back door.

“Mr. Westwood, you will be riding in front with me,” the woman said as she stepped past him and opened his door.

“How lovely,” Miles said and looked back to see Endo getting into the back seat on the other side while one of the men was running back from the hangar with a few ropes to tie down the trunk.

Miles settled into his seat and the woman closed the door. “Don’t believe I’ve ever had a lady hold the door for me,” he said to her as she passed by the front of the car.

“Of course, you’ve arrived here as our guest.” She opened her own door and slid in.

The man tied down the back and got in with Endo. The other man bowed as the woman started the car and drove them away.

They were soon speeding down a single paved road with no painted lines, while dirt roads running alongside splintered from the main street. They passed by military patrols and civilians walking around in the open, rural streets. The people all seemed to wear the same bland, black clothing. Each would stand and face the car as it passed, bowing.

“What’s he doing?” Miles pointed.

“They pay their respect when official transport passes,” the woman answered without looking.

“Ahh, could use a bit of that at home, I suppose,” Miles joked, but cast a raised eyebrow back at Endo.

The buildings were either plain brick or painted concrete, and most were only one or two levels, but there were the occasional ornate buildings dotting the city.

“What’s that?” Miles pointed at one of the larger buildings as they passed.

“That’s the commissioner's office, Mr. Westwood,” the woman answered.

“And that?” He pointed at another with a curved roof that was coming up on their left.

“The Party residence meeting hall. You will be staying there for the night.”

“Ah yeah? Looks cozy. But these, uhh, more ornate places, they’re all government buildings?”

“That is correct, Mr. Westwood. We are an honest and humble people. Sincere in our work and lifestyle. Very apart from the braggarts in Beijing.”

“I can see that.” They sped past another old woman who turned to face them. It was starting to make Miles’ skin crawl. He turned his focus from the window. “I don’t believe we heard your official title. Are you a representative or assistant to the governor?”

“I’m his daughter and deputy.”

“Ah yeah? That mean you’re heir to all this?”

“The cow shit you mentioned earlier, yes, I’m heir to this.”

Miles chuckled but it caught in his throat. “To be fair, I said it was a lovely scent of cow shit.”

She didn’t respond and Miles looked away with a wince.

Keep it up, mate, and they might stick a blade into your ribs when you’re sleeping, he thought.

They continued some ways down the road until it, too, changed into a short, packed dirt road that went up to a private residence. It was the largest building of all, complete in traditional style, though it was still only three or four stories tall. A set of large, decorative stairs led up to the entrance, which was seemingly on the second floor.

“This is the governor’s residence. You will be meeting with him here.” She smiled at him as she stopped the car in front of the building. When she put it in park, Miles tried the handle, but it didn’t open. He had to wait for the woman to get out, round the car, and open it for him.

“Why, thank you again, Deputy Governor,” Miles said, and stepped out. He released a breath as he took in a better view of the building. It had amazing fixtures of dragons, demons, and dancing warriors. He felt a tap at his side and looked to see the man offer him his bag. “Much obliged, mate.”

Endo came up along with him too, holding his heavy bag on his back.

“Just this way,” the woman said, and began up the stairs.

“Lead on.” Miles followed behind her.

They went up the stairs and two soldiers with rifles and helmets stood guard at the door. They didn’t speak, but silently opened the double doors.

The woman led them inside as she talked. “As you are aware, security has inspected your bags, and yours have passed clearance, Mr. Westwood, but your friend will not be allowed to carry his equipment in to meet the governor. Should he insist on staying with the bag, then he must remain out here. I assure you, though, that your security will be fine.”

“Understood, though we certainly prefer he keep the gear within arm’s length,” Miles said.

“I understand,” the woman said and gestured toward a door. “Your friend can follow my colleague here into a waiting room.”

“Suppose I’ll be doing this one solo, mate.” Miles cracked a grin at Endo and patted him on the arm.

Endo gave a tight nod. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Miles gave a friendly salute and waited while Endo headed off with the other man.

“If you please, Mr. Westwood, your meeting will commence.” She gestured.

“Right, but I have to ask you, am I supposed to bow when we meet?”

“The governor knows you are not Chinese and he will not expect you to act as such. So long as you maintain good decorum, I believe all will be fine.”

“Got it.” Miles gave her a thumbs-up. He plastered on a grin, but he could feel the jet lag caking up behind his eyes and in his legs.

The woman opened the door and Miles entered. The room was impressively large with a desk in the center that seemed too modest and out of place. The man behind it wore a black jacket with a high-collared shirt beneath it. He was already standing as Miles came in.

The governor bowed but said nothing.

“I, umm . . .” Miles puckered his lips, not sure what to say. “inThank you for inviting me?”

The governor spoke a few words as his daughter stood beside him.

She had her head bowed until he finished talking. “The governor wishes me to tell you that he hopes you enjoyed your flight.”

“Yeah, it was a real peach.” Miles gave a thumbs-up.

His daughter translated and the governor laughed, though it was modest.

“So, shall we get down to business?” Miles asked, standing in front of the desk.

The governor appraised him as if he were a curious zoo animal before speaking.

“He asks if he can offer you a drink or something to eat.”

“Uh, no, really I’d prefer if we could just get into it.” He shifted from one leg to another.

She translated the words and the governor offered an approving nod as he spoke.

“He says he would like to hear the terms that President Winters has offered him.”

Miles pointed at a chair. “Wait, will we just stand? I’m okay if we sit down.”

“Of course,” the woman said and translated the words.

The governor sat first and Miles followed him, but his daughter remained standing.

“Okay, well, here’s the thing,” Miles said, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “President Winters has heard your offer. And he agrees you have the stronger army. But he wishes for you all to come together again. He doesn’t want to choose.”

The governor listened as his daughter spoke, his eyes growing tighter and more focused on Miles before he replied.

“He says he feels he was not given serious consideration, and that perhaps you do not understand our military well. Hubei and its allied provinces control more than eighty percent of the military, food production, and mineral extraction in China.”

She hadn’t finished before the governor spoke again, and this time, Miles could hear the sharpness of the words.

“He also wishes for me to tell you that Zhao has lost all confidence from the governors. He’s lost his super weapons, holds the weight of a sinking economy, and his seat in Beijing is terribly flooded with refugees. And the enemy we now face, the Dragon, is one of Zhao’s own making. There is no deal to make with him. He is the weaker party.”

“Ahh, but you forgot a few things.” Miles held up a finger. “He’s got the nukes. He’s got the navy. And he’s got the Dragon Program.” Miles dug his datapad out of his bag and turned it on, sliding it onto the desk. It had a vid playing on repeat of a Dragon camp being set up in Taiwan.

“That’s impossible. We were told it was destroyed,” the woman said before translating. She quickly uttered the words to the governor.

Miles shrugged. “Listen, I’m not going to pretend I know the intricacies of Chinese politics or what’s happening exactly, but it wasn’t destroyed, it was relocated.”

The woman translated and the governor’s lips tightened. He spoke sharply back.

“He says he believes it to be a ruse. Zhao is weakened, but he is no fool. He is swift.”

“Mate, it’s real. We’ve had confirmation. And let me tell you, I’ve been around those kinds of people, those Dragons. They work, and one of them is worth a thousand men. Maybe ten thousand. Well, I mean, so long as they don’t go insane or anything. You know what, miss, maybe leave that insanity and all that out when translating?”

The governor scoffed before the woman translated and he shook his head as she spoke.

He answered back, his gaze tight on Miles.

“He says a deal is impossible. Even if he agreed to one, the other governors would throw him off a roof.”

“Why the hell is it always throwing someone off a roof?” Miles asked the woman.

“It’s traditional.”

Miles frowned as she turned to translate.

The governor listened and then hissed something that surely sounded like a curse to Miles. He had to wonder if they discussed throwing him off the roof.

Miles let out a sigh as he leaned back in the chair.

Good one, mate. You already pissed them off. You got some cards, now play’em.

The governor’s daughter was speaking again when Miles held up a hand, interrupting them.

“You don’t get many visitors here, do you, miss? Foreign visitors, that is,” he asked.

Her eyes were sharp. “We do not.”

“Hey, I get it. We’re all playing new roles. Here’s the thing. Zhao’s been doing this for a lot longer than any of us. He knows how to hold leverage. He might be a right arsehole, I wouldn’t know, but it doesn’t matter. He’s got his leverage and you’ve got yours. So you gotta play it.”

The woman’s face softened. “How do you mean?” She stopped to translate and the governor watched intently.

Miles gestured toward her. “You said as much, didn’t you? You’ve got the army. You’ll die without Zhao and he’ll die without you.” He focused tightly on the governor, and his daughter whispered the translations into his ear. “I’m here to grease the wheels, not pick favorites. Let’s hear your terms, what you people need—what you really need. These kinds of things don’t go off without a kink. But let’s get the ball rolling. You’ll need to get your people on board, so start by blaming the Americans, everyone else does. It’s traditional. Say that the US wants to cut off supplies and arms. Meanwhile, I’ll head to Zhao and tell him that if he wants a China to return to, he’ll have to answer your demands. But whatever it is—whatever we’re doing—it has to snap together fast. You play up your patriotism for your people and we’ll snap this country back together. Zhao’s already said he’d let any rogue governor leave for America and won’t bother your heirs. Come on, I’m telling you. The US is great, you can live happy and rich there. Leave all this to your lovely daughter here and help us save the world for her.”

Miles kept the smile but he knew he was laying it on thick. He felt an annoying, exhausted twitch in his eye, and one of his legs jumped despite his best efforts to keep it still.

He waited while the woman finished translating and the man leaned back in his seat, watching Miles the entire time.

Miles sat in silence as the two talked back and forth. He exhaled and did his best to pretend like he wasn’t worried about the man shooting him in the face or going for the more traditional approach of throwing him off the roof.

The two quieted and drew Miles’ attention. When he looked back, the governor spoke with a firm voice.

“He asks if you’ve noticed the desk.”

“The desk?” Miles raised his eyebrows and looked at it. “Looks quite a fine desk, I suppose. What of it?”

“He made the desk.”

Miles narrowed his eyes but nodded. “Ehh, yeah, it’s got a nice frame to it, I can see. Lovely thing, really. Can’t say I’m much of a carpenter myself.”

“It’s out of place here.” She waved a hand to the room. There were beautiful bookshelves and artwork on the wall along with the decorative carpet.

Miles looked around. “Best I’ve seen in all of China.”

“It’s important to him that you know he made this.”

“Yeah?”

The governor took a deep breath; this time, he looked at his daughter and they exchanged some words before she turned to Miles. “He says he thinks you understand. It’s important that we build things to leave to our children.”

Miles looked between them again. He could see the warmth there. This time, he tipped his head with sincerity. “I understand. You’ve built a lot here. You want to make sure nothing spoils it. From what I’m told, Zhao’s been throwing the likes of you to the front line. But we’re here to help now. We’re not choosing sides. I’ll tell President Winters your concerns, but the deals need to be made quickly. We all want you to leave this lovely desk to your daughter after all.” He reached out and patted it.

She turned to the governor and translated. He nodded as he listened and then answered.

“He says that lodgings have been prepared for you. They are typically used for Party officials, so he trusts that you will find them comfortable. He would like you to stay there while he contacts his allies and considers. He will speak with you again tomorrow.”

“We’re on a bit of a schedule, but I can wear off a day here. Tell him I thank him kindly for the invite and for preparing a room.” She translated and the governor returned with a curt nod.

The woman rounded the desk and gestured toward the door. “If you please, Mr. Westwood.”

He followed her out, and when the door closed, he leaned a little closer to her and spoke quietly, “Bit intense at the end there.”

“These are intense times, are they not, Mr. Westwood?”

“Fair point. Now, where’s this bed we’ve been promised?”

ENDO WAITED PATIENTLY while Miles went about the meeting. They’d put him in an ornate room, but he felt it sat like a mask over a layer of insecurity.

These people were trying their best to match the grandiosity of Beijing, but there was little that could be done with pig farms and rice fields.

He suspected it made them nervous, irritable people, prone to insults.

Miles' prickly attitude and seemingly irresistible urge to poke people made him nervous.

It was a good thing he had the bag close.

But he heard Miles talking as the room to the governor’s office opened.

Endo grabbed his bag and stood, surprised to see Miles and the woman smiling and chatting.

Perhaps it has gone over better than I might have suspected.

It was undeniable that Miles was good at working people, apparently across borders.

Endo joined them as they headed back to the car and Miles yammered the entire time, but Endo only half listened. Instead, he was focused on where they were.

How many roads in and out of town?

Which buildings have roof access?

Why are these people on the street?

Who is paying more than a passing glance?

Where are the soldiers patrolling?

What equipment do they have?

He’d watched with keen eyes the entire ride until they arrived at the lodgings.

Except for the governor’s building, this one seemed to get the lion’s share of the funding. It was large, meant to house Party members for official gatherings, but he suspected that was more ambitious than practical—he didn’t find it likely that Hubei was having many governmental meetings.

Endo studied it carefully and saw that it was of similar design as the governor’s building. Built to be beautiful and traditional, but the stairs led to an entrance on the second floor that implied much to him.

This is also a military fort.

That was clearer now. The stairs were perfect for fighting off revolting peasants. And though he couldn’t see the roof, he suspected that there was a wide, flat top that allowed guards access, and a perfect position for shooters. The windows also had that mildly cloudy appearance of materials that the Chinese used for bulletproofing glass, and they were small—too small for a person to squeeze through even if they did manage to break the glass.

Endo suspected that while this operated mostly as a lodging, it doubled as a fallback military base for government officials.

He supposed the governor wasn’t interested in sharing his own house in the event of a siege.

He had concluded all of that in the moment it took for the car to be put in park and for the assistant to open his door.

The woman saw them off and she exchanged a few words with Miles before leaving them with the attendant, a young man in his early twenties who seemed to have an awkward time wearing his formal clothes.

There were locks on the outside of the building. Someone had made the effort to make them less visible because they covered it with a wood paneling they painted over. So perhaps it wasn’t only a fortress . . .

But also a cage.

Endo stopped at the base of the stairs, his eyes working over the outer wall. Miles caught the hesitancy and shifted onto one leg.

“Something off, mate?”

Endo looked at the attendant and glanced back down to the car that dropped them off, slowly pulling away.

“No,” Endo said and went inside.

He glanced over his shoulder as the doors shut.

There were two distinct clicks.

One for the inside. One for the outside.

The interior locks were controlled by a visible touch pad.

Endo didn’t know what the hell any of that meant.

There was no front desk, no check-in or anything that may be expected in the west, or southern Japan, but there was a manager who bowed to them.

He was in his mid-forties, shorter than most, and had a bit of extra weight on him. But when they passed in front of him, the man leaned up and Endo noticed he had a wide frame, and the thick hands of someone who’d had a life of using his back.

Endo suspected he’d served in the military.

He also had a thin chain on his pants linked to a card in his pocket.

With no elevator in sight, the attendant led them up two flights of stairs to a room that faced east.

Endo estimated the number of rooms and listened for guests who may be in them.

He didn’t hear any.

He noted the direction of the stairs and that there was only a single set.

The attendant pressed his finger on a pad beside the door. It scanned, the door chirped, then opened inward toward the room, something Endo noticed was not common to the doors in the governor’s home but also wasn’t necessarily alarming.

The attendant spoke Mandarin, but it was slurred and Endo suspected his mother language was Cantonese and that he was not native to this area.

He left and the door closed behind them, chirping twice more.

Miles pursed his lips and made a face. He pointed at the door.

“We just get locked inside, mate?”

“I believe so,” Endo answered as he moved deeper into the room. There were two twin beds that would be plain by most standards of the west, but the wallpaper was an extravagant design of Chinese art and the window curtains looked like heavy, royal fabrics.

“Bit worrying, right?”

“Could be.” Endo’s voice didn’t suggest concern.

Miles yawned and stretched. “Well, if you’re not worried, then I’m not. What’d the bellhop say, then?”

“That we are not to wander and that food will be brought up shortly.”

“Really have a way with guests, don’t they?”

“Unfortunately, I believe it to be standard.”

“Right, I don’t suspect they get many guests here.”

“No, I don’t believe so either.” Satisfied that there wasn’t anything of deep concern, he placed his bag down and walked over to the window. It was just as small as the ones below. He leaned forward and looked through it. He saw the next building was a smaller one, perhaps twenty feet away.

Miles groaned as he dropped his bag on the floor. “Two twins and not a vid screen in sight. They really went all out on the diplomatic quarters, didn’t they? What do they expect us to do?”

“Sleep and wait,” Endo said as he turned away from the window. “They’re concerned we might be spies. Old habits die hard. I’m a little surprised we got this far with the CAG. Between security and the governor’s office, they were fairly insistent that I leave the bag with them.”

Miles made a face and looked up at the corners of the room. “You think they have a camera in here?”

“Yes.” Endo opened his bag and took out a change of clothes to lay on the bed. “And microphones.”

Miles made another face. “Bathroom too, yeah? I can live with the Chinese seeing my arse, but if they see me squatting on the toilet, that’s a bit much, innit?” He unbuttoned his shirt.

“I don’t think you have much of a choice unless you can hold it,” Endo said with a shake of his head.

“Fair point, mate. Don’t believe I can. I did enjoy those noodles they gave us when we landed but they shot right through me. It was all I could do to keep the conversation running so you wouldn’t all hear my stomach screaming its desire to open the port exhaust.” Miles frowned and rubbed his stomach.

“I suggest you take the risk, then.” Endo gestured toward the toilet.

“We can only play the cards we’re dealt, right, mate?” Miles opened up his bag and dug out his own clothes. “Do you ever feel like you’ve woken up in someone else’s underwear?”

Endo shook his head. “No.”

He sat on his bed and pulled his socks and pants off to where he was down to his boxers. “You’re not even going to ask me what I mean by that?”

“What do you mean by that, Miles?”

“I know I’ve said it a few times, but I have a hard time wrapping my head around how I got to this point. I’m over here in bloody China negotiating terms for a peace deal and I’m just like . . . What in hell am I doing here? I have to—” Miles winced hard. “Hold that thought, mate. I better get to business first.” He scooped up his change of clothes and hurried to the bathroom.

“Be sure to turn the fan on,” Endo called.

He could understand that Miles felt out of place, but he didn’t, even as he positioned the CAG next to his bed.

Somehow, in some way, he knew . . .

This was right where he was supposed to be.

THE MOON WAS RISING over Hubei and casting its glow down upon the land. On most occasions, this would have been a lovely night.

It would be for some, but not for others.

It was growing cold, but it wasn’t for the woman in the gray sweater. She held a bag close to her chest and moved at a brisk pace that kept the heat up. Passersby barely gave her a glance, and why would they? She kept her face and eyes down, which was the way of the people there with their mind-your-own business attitude toward things.

Tap-tap-tap went her flat-heeled shoes on the pavement as she neared the Party lodgings. There were military patrols after dark, but they were on high alert for creatures, not a fellow citizen such as herself.

She wore a large, woven hat meant for the sun, but did just as well to cover her face against the ever-present security cameras in China. She rounded into an alleyway, stepping through a small flow of water coming from the building and heading toward the street.

Her shoes had gotten wet, but that was not a concern.

She was only concerned that she got to the south-facing ground floor door of the lodgings before the hour.

That was when the shift would change and a worker would take out the trash.

She was waiting some feet away when the door beeped twice and opened. A man, not more than a few years from school, stepped out carrying a trash bin. He set it aside and grabbed a rock to slide into place so the door would stay cracked open. He grabbed the bin and took one step toward the dumpster before the woman startled him.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice with an ache. So was the way of old women here, and for the moment, she was one. “Could you help me?”

“Ahh, woman!” He waved a hand at her. “You are the one digging through our trash? There is no food here, you must leave.”

“I have something to show you,” she said, and went to the bag at her side, reaching deep inside it.

The man frowned, but something cracked and hissed, drawing his attention.

She opened the bag slightly and held it in front of him.

Curiosity got the best of him and he leaned forward trying to see through the darkness. “What is it?”

“Look closer.” She opened the bag further.

He said as he leaned in. “I don’t see—”

But the woman yanked the bag up onto his head so hard that the canister inside it hit him in the teeth.

All at once, the man screamed and she let go of the bag.

He fought and slipped backward, slamming his back against the bricks. He rolled back and forth against the wall as he clawed at the bag and finally ripped it off.

A canister clattered to the ground, still steaming from the cryo cells.

But now, a parasite with its long wisps were wrapped around the man’s face. Several were already digging into his ear while another slid in through an eye socket and toward his brain.

A painful scream erupted from his throat, but that was clearly what the parasite wanted as the fat, pulsing bean slid into his mouth.

He collapsed to the ground and wrestled with it, trying desperately to tear it out of his mouth.

The woman had seen it several times now.

It never took long.

Not when it goes in through the mouth.

She turned and started off, but thought better of it.

She moved to the propped-open door and widened it, kicking the rock into place and making sure the man would soon have a good view of the inside.

Best to keep things simple, she thought.

She disappeared into the night.

MILES GROANED as the lukewarm water hit him. He really liked having a hot shower to unwind, but he supposed he shouldn’t complain. He tried to find his small travel body wash, but someone must have nicked it in security because he couldn’t find it.

Instead, he settled for a bar of soap, which always made his hair feel a little dry, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Besides, that wouldn’t be the first thing he complained about.

For one, the shower and the toilet were all next to each other. That is, the toilet was inside the shower, which appeared to be the entire room. He supposed it was better than a hole in the ground, something he found when doing a show in southeast Asia.

The toilet also had an annoying habit of asking him questions, but it was all in Chinese, so he just tuned it out. Honestly, who would ever want to have a conversation with something you’re trying to shit into?

Sometimes, it was like technicians put bells and whistles on things because they felt like it’d impress someone.

“Would you like me to spray your arse off after you wipe?” Miles mocked as he rubbed his hair. If he were to ever make a request like that, he’d have the dignity to do so in silence.

Whatever, he’d survive. He washed the soap out and reached for his toothbrush that was in a cup on top of the toilet. Instead, he bumped it and it spilled to the floor.

“Oh, son of bitch.” It laid at the base of the toilet.

He bent down, picked it up, and made a face.

The toilet yammered again, but he groaned and pushed the button to make it flush. That at least would shut it up for a minute or two.

He glanced around at the ceiling to see if he could spot a camera because he imagined someone would be laughing their arses off if they saw him.

He grabbed the showerhead off the wall, which came loose with a hose, and sprayed his toothbrush off. Still not overly content, he sighed as he grabbed the travel toothpaste, which he thankfully still had, and squeezed out a line on the bristles.

He brushed as the water hit him.

Maybe it was his imagination, but he felt like there was a taste . . . Nothing awful or anything, just different.

Who knows, though, maybe it was the water.

So long as he didn’t grow a head out of his ass—which was totally within reason these days—he supposed it’d be fine.

As he scrubbed, the shower got his mind working and he spit out a mouthful of toothpaste fizz.

He decided he didn’t give a shit if they had microphones in there or not.

“Hey, mate? You know I’m thinking that tomorrow, after the meeting, we head on out, cocks pointed west with asses to the east. We told them what we could do and I think our cards are played out. Besides, I want to get back and—”

Endo thumped his hand on the door twice. “Miles, you need to get out here.”

“You worried about them hearing? Like I give a damn. Nothing else we can do, mate.” Miles put the brush back in his mouth.

“No, get out here now.”

Miles took his toothbrush out and put it in the cup and swished his mouth with some water before cutting it. He grabbed a towel.

“Something wrong, mate?”

“Yes, I heard someone screaming.”

He toweled off fast and tossed it aside. “Fucking hell, I can’t go anywhere.” He pulled his pants on in the bathroom and cracked the door open.

Endo already had on the leg and chest armor of his CAG and was pulling one sleeve up to the shoulder connection. “Doesn’t it usually take two to get into one of these things?” Miles asked as he rushed out to grab a shirt.

There was the sound of turning gears as Endo’s sleeve connected. He pointed toward the ground. “Give me the other sleeve.”

There was another scream followed by more somewhere in the distance.

Miles dropped his shirt, grabbed the piece of armor, and positioned it for Endo to slide his arm into. Endo connected it and grabbed his helmet, setting it on his head. It sank down and connected with a chirp.

“I’m activated,” Endo’s voice buzzed over the speakers.

Miles snatched up the sword still in the sheath and handed it over. “Here’s your sticker, mate.”

“And the pistol.” Endo pulled the sword loose.

“Right.” Miles found the pistol in a travel box and popped the clasps. He pulled it out and handed it over. “You want me to stay here?”

Endo slid it into a holster on his hip. “No, if you stay here, you might get trapped inside. I didn’t hear any other guests, so if there’s something in here with us, it’ll find us fast. Now, there’s only one stairwell here and the front door is the only exit I saw, but it’ll need a key. They cornered us here.”

“Well, shit on that, mate. How do we get the key?” Miles hopped around as he pulled his shoes on.

“The manager has it. These floors were all residential and empty. His room must be on the ground floor below where we entered or he’s still in the lobby.”

“How in the hell did you work all that out?” Miles snatched his shirt off the bed and pulled it on.

“Just grab your bag and stay behind me.”

“That’s the plan. But how are we going to get our door open? We’re already locked in.”

Endo took two strides toward the door and kicked hard enough that it cracked off its frame.

“Right, of course. That one was a bit predictable.”

Endo stepped out into the empty hallway Miles crouched behind Endo and glanced over his shoulder.

There was another scream and someone shouted far below.

Endo headed that way, the CAG humming.

“You sure about heading toward the screams? Shouldn’t we go that way?” Miles asked, glancing backward again.

“There’s no exit that way,” Endo answered. “The staff is on the lower floors. If they are all infected, it reduces our chances. Our best bet is to get out before it’s a total infestation.”

An infected man burst up the stairs, his head peeling open like a PEZ dispenser with rows of teeth.

Miles' eyes went wide and he instantly pulled back.

Not Endo, though.

He ran forward.

The creature rushed to grab him, but he swung his sword down at an angle, and with the strength of the blade and power from the CAG, it cut the creature in half. The body separated in two with the legs taking another two strides past Endo before collapsing. The top half hit the ground and flailed its arms in confusion. Endo grabbed an arm by the wrist and hurled it down the hallway in the opposite direction.

Miles caught himself and rushed in behind Endo. “That won’t kill it!”

“I know, move quick,” Endo said and started down the stairs.

Miles glanced over his shoulder again and saw the severed legs cracking and reshaping into some new horror, but he didn’t stay to find out what.

Endo went down the stairs, but slowed as he got to the edge.

Miles winced hard and wanted to shove Endo down. He felt like something was about to take a bite out of his ass any second.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw the torso’s intestines spooling out everywhere and the hand dragging it toward the stairs. It was going to tumble down any moment.

“Go, go, go!” he shouted at Endo.

Endo moved. Miles hadn’t realized he’d been pushing on him and lost his footing falling onto the next floor.

The torso latched its fingers on the first step and yanked hard, throwing itself at them. The head came up and Miles saw its eyes rolling around in its head as it turned end over end.

“Shit!” Miles screamed and held his hands up.

Endo grabbed him under the armpits and pulled hard, practically throwing him across the floor. Miles hit the wall and the air knocked out of him. “Oof!”

The torso hit and the intestines swung through the air, but Endo cut them down. An arm reached out for him and he cut it off at the wrist and turned away.

“Go!” he shouted at Miles.

Still sucking in breath, Miles climbed to his feet and headed to the lobby, and the screaming continued. He passed a horrified look back at Endo, who went past him and onto the floor.

Miles almost slipped on the blood on the floor. “Front door!” he shouted and rushed toward it.

“They’ll be locked. Too big for me to smash it down.”

Miles skidded to a stop.

Endo looked toward a door on the other side where the screaming was coming from. “There must be kitchen staff down there, and the manager too. I’ll go get the card. You wait here.”

“Right.” Miles straightened up.

Endo stormed down the hallway and banked right.

Miles watched until he lost sight of him and then started looking around the room.

There were screams coming from where Endo went. But Miles also heard a thump.

Then another.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

The severed legs clattered to the ground. They’d cracked like the man was doing the splits and now there was a big mouth on the waist section where Endo had cut it.

It rolled around on the ground until it found its footing and straightened up. It toppled back and forth like a newborn deer before it opened a big, bloody eye growing off the hip. It rolled around in its socket until it saw Miles. The mouth widened with eager hunger, blood pouring over its teeth, and it wobbled toward him on unsteady feet.

“Shiiit,” Miles hissed as he backed up to the wall.

There was nowhere to go, and the big, dumb set of legs were coming for him.

Miles tore at his shirt and undid the first set of buttons until he got about halfway and ripped it the rest of the way off. The buttons popped off and rolled on the floor.

As the creature neared, frothing at the mouth and making hungry animal noises, Miles swung his shirt at it. The creature tried to bite it, but never got a hold. Growing frustrated, it instead focused on rushing at him.

“Fuck, fuck!” Miles sputtered as he balled up the shirt and threw it at its midsection.

It hit the creature over the eye, and it took a bite of the shirt. It tried to chew, but the shirt tangled on the sharp teeth and blinded it.

Miles rounded it and saw that his only chance was up the stairs again or down the way Endo went.

Groaning, he hopped on one foot as he peeled off a shoe and held it up high. The creature ambled as it turned around to face Miles. He pelted it with the shoe, making it stumble back before regaining its footing.

“Eat it, you shit!”

Miles worked off his other shoe as it slobbered and stumbled forward. He hit it again, making it tip over.

The creature kicked up and around before pulling the legs into an army crawl. It rode on its knees. The shirt caught under one and finally pulled free from its face.

The blood-red eye widened so much that Miles could see the little purple veins as it screamed at him. Miles dug into his pockets but came up empty. He turned to run to the other corner of the room, but skidded on his socks and only barely caught himself again.

The creature, wide-eyed and eager, saw that it had him pinned and hurried over.

Endo came out from the back, blood splattered all over him. He whipped his sword above the knee and took the creature’s support out from under it. It fell down again.

“Let’s go,” Endo said, holding up the key card.

Miles didn’t need to be told twice. He took a wide arch around the still-snapping creature while Endo scanned the card.

It beeped, but then a touch pad lit up.

“Son of a bitch!” Miles yelled.

But Endo dug into a pouch on his hip and pulled out two fingers. He placed them both on the scanner until it blinked.

“Oh,” Miles chirped.

Endo went out first and Miles followed, bare chested and shoeless.

Endo threw the door closed behind them and it locked again.

There were shouting soldiers positioned out front, their rifles pointed at the duo.

Miles hesitated, but Endo jolted in front of him with his sword up.

“Wait, wait!” Miles said, patting Endo on the shoulder. “They didn’t do it. They didn’t.” He held up his hands to the soldiers. “Whoa, whoa, guns down!” He rubbed and slapped his body. “See? No bites!”

Miles shot a look back at Endo, who still had his sword in hand. “Put it down,” Miles encouraged. “Trust me, mate, they didn’t do this. Tell them we’re clean, no bites.”

Whatever Endo was thinking, Miles couldn’t tell against the CAG helmet, but he slowly placed the sword on the ground and held up his hands. Endo called out to the soldiers in Mandarin.

The governor’s daughter showed up, still in the white dress. She shouted to the soldiers and they lowered their weapons.

“Are you all okay?” She motioned. “Come down, we won’t fire. What happened?”

Miles went first, and Endo waited behind him.

“Seems to have been a bit of an outbreak centered in our hotel here,” he said, thumbing backward, the stone steps cold on his socked feet. “So while we certainly appreciate the hospitality, I feel that your father’s response will be completely acceptable in a vid reply. I’m afraid we’ll be flying out tonight.” Miles threw on a grin. He glanced back at Endo. “How’s that sound, mate?”

Endo bent down and grabbed his sword. He shook it at the ground, making the blood fly off. “Absolutely.”

“Now,” Miles said, clapping his hands together, “who here can help me with not freezing my tits off?”

22

A HELICOPTER FLEW OVERHEAD and the makeshift operations base buzzed with life as John stared at the thing on the ground. The top of its head looked like man’s, but the jaw had changed and stretched with long, jagged teeth poking out.

Now, most of its body was charred black.

“What the hell was it doing?” John asked.

“Looking for you, I suspect,” Roles answered. “Getting a little worrisome that it got inside the wire.”

John huffed. “Bastards. Who stopped it?”

“Our Ghost got him.” Roles pointed to a man sitting in the back of a government SUV. He was thin, bony, and smoking a cigarette as he stared at the ground.

“He all right? He looks like a drug addict.”

“They’re usually like that,” Roles answered. “After Ray there IDed it, the sergeant over there toasted it, but I guess Ray finished it off. Who knows how they do it. Just snap their fingers and the things die.”

“Not always that clean. I’ve seen the reports. Sometimes, these things get their insides squeezed out their ears, don’t they?” John looked down at it again. “Any idea how many of these there are?”

Roles shook his head. “We’re getting scattered reports, but I’m tracking them. They’re constantly evolving. Either way, we’re going to need to move you somewhere safer.”

“Am I supposed to give daily press reports from a bunker? What’ll that say to the American people if I’m hiding in a hole but they’re left topside to fight?”

“What’ll it say if you die?”

“It’ll say we stand our ground and die on our feet. Then the next man will come up.”

“It’s irresponsible if you don’t have a vice president. We might have to go grab the housing secretary and put him in charge. Can you imagine that drunk trying to explain the horrors of the world to the American people?”

John didn’t like to admit it, but Roles was right. He nudged the ugly thing with his shoe. “You done with this?” he asked.

“If I had a stick, I might poke it a few times, but since I don’t, I guess I’m done.”

John looked over to a group of soldiers and waved them in.

“Let’s walk,” he said. “I need to stretch my legs.”

Roles tucked his hands into his pockets and followed alongside him.

“Any word on Westwood?” John asked.

“Last I heard was that they were being cleared into Taiwan.”

“Yeah, figured you would have told me if you’d heard anything. The governor’s office is saying there was a sudden outbreak, but a pinpoint on that office? No way in hell.”

“Someone wanted them dead.”

“Any guesses who?

“I could take a guess, but it doesn’t mean shit. Any one of about a thousand different parties in China could have some kind of motivation for either being pissed that we didn’t give them what they wanted or trying to stop us from giving their enemy something. Or they could have done it on their own like that ugly thing back there. There was no Ghost on site in Hubei to detect. Either way, with or without, it’s only a matter of time before more of these things get deeper in. We’re rotten with them here, there’s no front line. The Chinese have kept them mostly in the west, but their refugee situation has gotten so bad it’s bound to pop.”

“That why you changed your mind about Alice? You could have notified me you were going to send her.”

Roles chuckled. “I thought you wanted me to.”

“Even if I did, she’s still my daughter. You told me she didn’t have a chance.”

“I said the Archon had defeated her, and the Dragon had defeated the Archon, so it stood to reason she’d lose, but that was bad logic. Blame it on sleep exhaustion.” Roles pulled a pack of cigs from his jacket. “You mind if I smoke, Mr. President?”

“Like I give a damn, just finish telling me why you sent my daughter to kill the Dragon.”

Roles plugged a cig into his mouth and got the electro lighter out as he spoke. “Rock, scissors, paper. The Archon is practically indestructible, he ate a nuke. Reports are he beat Alice in the hive mind. I don’t know a damn thing about the Dragon’s history, but the way he manipulates and controls the creatures is beyond anything we’ve seen. He killed another Archon outright. But he’s not a soldier, and his body isn’t indestructible. Alice doesn't have to face him mind to mind. She’s a soldier and she knows how to handle herself. She can cut him in half with a rifle.” Roles finally lit the end of the cig and took a drag. He exhaled and made a face. “That’s my going theory anyway. Scissors beats paper.”

“Jesus Christ.” John rubbed his face. “I hope you’re right. And Roles, I take your point about the vice president. I haven’t been able to get anyone through because of congress.”

“And you already have a bunch of those assholes detained. Under martial law you can appoint whoever you want.”

“I know. You’re right. Get me Jim Baker out of Venezuela and get him up here.”

“He won’t like it, he’s invested down there.”

“I know Jim, he’ll understand. I’ve got enough work for him to do here anyway. We’ll put him in the bunker. If something happens, he’ll be the man to look up to. Meanwhile, I want you to continue working with the foreign Ghosts Programs.”

Roles nodded. “The Japanese had a few successes last night and I’m told the Indians aren’t far behind either.”

“All right. Now, if you get any more reports on Alice, I want you to send them to me right away. You understand? And get Jim Baker up here. And I’ll—” John looked away, considering. “I’ll have Cora and Eli moved into the bunker. But me? I’m staying topside.”

23

THE BUNKER WAS COLD, and when it was quiet, it was too quiet.

Eli didn’t like it.

Grandma always made him wear a jacket.

It was the little purple one with the blue dinosaur on it.

He liked the blue dinosaur cartoon, but he didn’t like the jacket.

He didn’t need it.

There weren’t any windows, either.

He didn’t like that.

It felt . . .

Small.

No one asked him if he wanted to be here.

He didn’t.

He liked being in the building before and staying high up. There, he could look out the window and see the clouds.

They told him that was dangerous now. That the creatures could come.

But there weren’t any creatures, he knew that.

He could feel them.

He could feel them even now, crawling under his skin and looking for him.

They couldn’t find him, though.

He was hiding . . .

He was always hiding.

. . . And they were always looking.

When the men came to get them out of the building, they told him he could gather some books and some toys, but he didn’t have enough room in his bag.

And he forgot the soldier figures.

He liked those.

They weren’t here now.

They were new too. Everything he had was new.

Everything else was in his room in the White House, and they left that when they ran away.

So, he got new things.

He wondered if he’d get new things again.

The books were new, but he finished all of them.

“Can we go back up?” he asked his grandma.

“No, sweetie, we have to stay down here for a little while.”

“For how long?”

She didn’t know. He knew that much. The question still came out of his mouth anyway. He read in a book somewhere that children think by talking.

He thought that was true.

Then again, he didn’t always say what he was thinking . . .

But they didn’t have books on what he could do—or the things he would think about.

If they did, he would read them, then he would ask grandma to read them too.

That way she wouldn’t be so scared when he told her about the things inside his brain.

Then she wouldn’t be so scared of him.

Or the things that were looking for him.

She could understand that she didn’t have to be scared because he was hiding.

He was good at hiding.

But she didn’t understand, so he didn’t tell her anymore.

Grandma Cora played another round of Box Cube with him. It was his favorite board game, but after the fourth game in a row, he was getting bored with that too.

“Tell you what, how about I plug in a vid for you and you wait here while I go wrestle up some art supplies?” she said, grinning.

She looked happy.

She wasn’t.

He knew that.

“Okay,” he said. He took a seat on the couch and she handed him a datapad with a cartoon playing. It was of a green cat explaining something to his bluebird friend. Eli grinned because he knew that’s what she wanted him to do.

But he didn’t like it.

He didn’t like much of anything.

Grandma Cora grinned back. “Just wait here a bit and I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” he said and watched the vid.

Grandma Cora left and Eli didn’t have to pretend anymore, so he set the datapad aside and it continued to make noise.

There were a lot of things Eli didn’t understand. People didn’t make much sense to him. A few did, but not many. There was his mother. There was Miles. And there was . . .

The Ghost.

Eli shifted into the other world even as his body stayed on the couch. He could walk and be in both places at once—this world as real and familiar as the other.

He reached for this friend.

Hey, kid.

It may as well have been a voice coming down a darkened hall. It was as if the man were at the end of it, bathed in shadows.

“Hi,” Eli said back.

You don’t come around as often. You having fun?

“I guess so. My grandma is getting me some art supplies.”

Yeah? What have you been doing?

“We played some games and I watched some vids.”

But you’re bored to tears, aren’t you? Kids like you need to go outside and play.

“I wish I could go outside.”

I’ll take you outside. You don’t have to worry. I can keep you safe. Where are you at right now?

The shadow took a step closer, the outline becoming clearer.

“We’re hiding.”

I know that, but where?

“Where are you?”

Oh, you know. I’m out doing what I need to do. But I have some free time coming. Where are you at?

“I’m not supposed to say.”

Right, you’re not supposed to tell bad people. I’m not a bad person, though. I just want to take you outside. Come down here and show me where you’re at.

The shadow motioned for Eli to come closer, and he almost did.

But then he stopped.

He heard the door open.

“Eli, are you done with your cartoon?”

He stepped away from the hive mind and focused on Grandma Cora.

“Yeah, it’s done,” he said and smiled.

“Come to the table here, I’ve got the art supplies.”

Eli did as he was told.

24

THREE.

Two.

One.

The sound of the ship blasting off still rang in Moller’s ears even though Earth was nothing but a small, blue marble fading into the distance.

She held a rail bar at the window, floating in place while the others behind her laughed and floated about.

She always preferred the view.

And she was glad that this time, she had someone to share it with—even if he was an asshole.

She grinned at Marat, who held another bar with both hands as if he was afraid a current might wash him away.

“You know most people think it’s fun the first time they float. Look at those guys back there. Hell on Earth and they’re still enjoying themselves.”

Marat laughed, but there was more fear than joy.

She looked away from him and at Earth again.

“I guess I’m not much better than them, though. The world’s boiling, but I’m still taken aback by that view. I didn’t realize how much I missed this,” she said.

“I never expect . . .” Marat said, stumbling for words.

That made her grin again. He was cute in a dumb little schoolboy kind of way.

“Moller?” someone asked, and when she looked over, she saw the captain flying toward her. He was a bit older and in a flight suit. And while these days, most members of Orbital Corps had let the military standards lag, this man had a clean haircut and a shaven face. Clearly, they’d picked someone with a no shit attitude.

He grabbed the bar as he floated near and steadied himself with ease. He looked as if he were about to say something, but instead, he joined them for the view. “It’s got a whole different feel to it when you know it’s getting eaten, doesn’t it?”

Moller sighed as reality returned to her. “Feels a little bit like we’re abandoning the fight, though, doesn’t it?”

“No,” he said with a raised lip and shake of his head. “We’re taking the fight to them. If that doesn’t warm your heart, what would?”

“That’s a good perspective.”

“We take what we can get. So, you’re our mission specialist? This is my first launch where I didn’t already know every crewman under my command. I read your files, though. You were on Felicity, when everything went to Hell.”

“I was.”

“It’s unheard of to launch with unknowns, but these are extreme times we live in, aren’t they? Anyway, they told me that a team went in after yours, but they didn’t do a full sweep. Their team concluded that there wasn’t likely any other hostiles. But I want to hear from you. What do you think we’ll find up there?”

“I don’t know for certain, but they’re up there. I know it. And I wouldn’t have agreed to come if they didn’t give us CAG.”

He studied her face but nodded. “We’re all certified for Orbital Corps CAG, even the Soviets got certified for American CAG. Well, except him.” The captain tipped his head at Marat.

Marat offered an awkward smile.

“The Soviets offered to send us a set of light CAG similar to what you would have trained with on your military duty, but I refused. Who the hell knows what that kind of shit would do in Mars’ atmosphere if it sprung a leak. You’re going to be in a flight suit. Just make sure you stand behind everyone if something goes wrong.”

Marat’s face tightened with another awkward smile. “Yeah, it’s good.”

The captain leaned in a little closer to Moller and spoke with a hushed voice. “I was glad when I saw that you had experience with the Ghosts. They sent us Anders over there, but she freaks me the hell out. Orders are that she’s supposed to deploy directly with you when we land.”

Moller nodded. “I’ve met Anders. I’ll keep an eye on her. She’ll be an asset.”

He looked back to Moller. “Well, when we touch down, command is yours, but until then, I’m assigned operational control while in flight. We’ve got thirty hours before we pass the moon and can activate our fabricated gravity. Since neither of you are critical to ship movements, I want you to introduce yourself to everyone else and tell them what you know about Felicity. This whole mission has been a real shit show organizing, but we’ll do the best we can. After we activate the gravity, we’ll have another ten hours for our bodies to settle before we go into cryo. After that, we’ll be three weeks out from Mars. Took your crew seven months, didn’t it?”

Moller nodded. “Seven months and some change, but we were flying cargo and were rerouted.”

The commander nodded. “We’ve gotten engine upgrades. Purrs like a kitten. Supposedly came from Felicity itself—you know anything about that?”

Yes, she knew who did it.

Braun did. He’d told them himself while on Felicity.

Somehow, she could still hear the sound of his eyes clicking inside.

She wondered if hers would make the same noise in time.

“No.” She met the captain’s eyes.

He said a few more words and then dismissed them to move onto others, but she’d barely heard a word of it. Her mind was already on Felicity, and she could remember the screams of her friends.

“Hey,” Marat said, rubbing her arm.

She felt cold and small, but Marat was grinning. She couldn’t help but smile back.

“Why the hell are you smiling so much?” she asked.

He glanced over his shoulder and then looked back at her. “They told me I couldn’t bring these.”

He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and held it.

Moller scoffed but couldn’t help but snicker. “You’re such an idiot. You better not light one of those until they get the fabricated gravity on.”

He tucked the cigarettes away and squeezed the back of her arm as his face grew all the more serious.

“What?” she asked him.

He licked his lips, nervous lines across his skin.

“You think there are creatures there?”

She looked into his eyes and could see the fear. But she wouldn’t lie.

“Yes.”

25

MAJOR GRAYSON HAD BEEN in the shit. That didn’t mean he was on the ground kicking up dirt with Marines or anything, no—he was flying supply runs all over the world.

But that also didn’t mean he didn’t get the feel for shit in his pants from time to time.

He’d been one of the first when those godforsaken evil things rolled out and released a blast of energy that brought his plane down.

There wasn’t even enemy activity in the area. Grayson just had to imagine those damned little things had found their flight paths and decided to lie in wait.

Grayson hadn’t been the only one flying that route, but he was the one to roll snake eyes.

He remembered there was smoke in some areas and he altered his route to avoid it. At this point, though, it was clear the bastards were funneling him where they wanted.

If anyone else told him, he’d think they were full of shit, but he remembered looking out and seeing just the tiniest little flash way down there on the ground, and at twenty thousand feet in the air, he knew that was impossible. No way in hell someone could see a chemical-laced energy explosion unless it was huge.

But then again, he’d seen it, looked out the window and even said, “What the hell was that?”

What came next was nothing short of a miracle. He’d felt like he was holding the whole damn thing together with stiff arms and wide, horror-filled eyes as the plane fritzed and went down.

The plane, heaven knows how, smashed into the ground, but he didn’t die.

His copilot, Davis, hadn’t been as lucky, though. His side smashed in when they hit a rock.

Whatever happened next, he hadn’t been awake for it. Next thing he knew was that those creatures were crawling all over the plane. Small demons that galloped around like monkeys with faces like rats. They crawled in through the broken window, and they must have either thought he was dead or figured they could take their time, because when he woke up, they were already past him and one was chewing on Davis’ fingers.

Grayson, for all the balls he had flying metal birds through the sky, gasped and got their attention.

But the world was full of miracles that day, and just as he was ready to close his eyes and call it a night, an angel stepped into view.

Well, not an angel exactly.

It was a Ghost.

And that woman put hell on a leash.

He remembered her rolling in, fire burning in her eyes, teeth clenching, and two fists up like a boxer when the bell rings.

And then those little shits ate each other.

Grayson had been half afraid they might get him in the crossfire, but they tore pieces off one another right then and there in the cockpit.

He never caught that dark-haired Ghost’s name, but he developed a new appreciation for the profession that day. One that he was sure would last a lifetime.

And now he had a R-12 Astraeus hardened with EMP shielding, and he had something else on his bird.

Alice Winters.

The duty officer had handed him the orders the day before, and Grayson stared at it dumbfounded, then asked, “What the hell is her rank?”

“She’s a Ghost.”

“Yeah, but what do we address her as?”

“I think we just say miss?”

Ms. Winters. That was good enough for Grayson.

He was glad he asked because he was about to introduce himself.

“What the hell are you doing?” his copilot asked.

“Someone has to tell her what the landing team said, don’t they?”

Grayson straightened his collar and headed back into the belly of the bird.

He strolled past the Marines in her drop crew who talked among themselves until he saw the Red Bitch herself in the back.

She was in a gray tank top with dog tags hanging from her shoulder, resting her elbows on her knees as she read a datapad. He watched her synthetic arm with the black-skin weave lower the datapad as he approached.

His nerves crawled up his throat like some little schoolboy asking a girl on a date.

“Ms. Winters, we’ve just heard back from the welcoming team in Taiwan.”

It was when she set her cold eyes on him that Grayson regretted every decision he’d made that afternoon.

“Yeah?” she asked as if she were only barely tolerating his existence.

Grayson cleared his throat. “They said they’ll be meeting you with a welcoming delegation, a platoon of royal guards, and Chairman Zhao.”

“There was an American delegation sent there led by Miles Westwood. Are they on site?”

Grayson swallowed and pulled his handheld datapad out of his pocket to look at it, if only to not have to look into her eyes. “They didn’t mention it, but there was no report of them, so I wouldn’t suspect so.” He only scrolled through the old report.

He hoped he at least looked busy.

“Tell them I don’t want a delegation. I want Zhao. Only Zhao. Tell him I need a report on whatever Ghosts he has, and I want him to assemble them.”

Grayson nodded as if he were in some position to dictate to the chairman how Taiwan could receive guests. A second ticked by before he finally looked up. “They call them Dragons, actually.”

“Tell him to assemble the Dragon soldiers. I want this to be quick.”

Another second passed where they both stared at each other.

Then Alice went back to reading her datapad.

Grayson turned around and headed back to the cockpit without a word of dismissal.

When he closed the door, he let out the breath he’d been holding the whole time.

“You all right?” his copilot asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“That some kind of stupid-ass joke?”

“Just came to me.”

ALICE HADN’T BEEN eager to go back to China, but Roles had given her just what she wanted.

“You’ll kill the Dragon.”

There was enough to kill on her side of the world, enough things that needed her attention.

But she still saw the faces of the men and women she’d killed in China when she led the horde.

She remembered raiding into the city and pulling her rifle up on soldiers and police officers.

She could still feel the weapon bucking in her hands.

Tat-tat-tat.

She couldn’t bring the dead back to life, but she could save others from the same fate.

“I’ll kill him, Roles. I owe those people at least that. Get me out there.”

There was another long plane ride where she felt useless.

But she closed her eyes and stepped into the other world.

She reached out for Eli.

She could feel him hiding, and she was happy for it.

There were few people who knew better about what lurked in the dark than her.

But words were not the same here; things were spoken without language.

She whispered love to him and she made a promise.

I’ll be with you soon.

And it was as if he were far down a dark hallway and all she could see was the edge of his being.

But she could feel him.

I love you.

Her eyes sprung open and she worked through her mission file on China.

She did hard research on all the information on the Dragon.

“Erkin,” she said his name out loud.

He wasn’t a Dragon. He wasn’t a Ghost.

He was a human that had his brain scrambled with a parasite, just like her.

But she was the original and she was a soldier.

He was just a poor, insane prisoner who’d lost all humanity.

He was what she refused to be.

But maybe . . . maybe there was still a chance.

Alice closed her eyes . . .

And she looked for Erkin.

ZHAO READ a report earlier that day. It estimated two hundred thousand dead in the east. It wasn’t that long ago that such a number would have caused alarm and panic, but one could only read daily casualty reports in the hundreds of thousands for so long before the whole thing grew numb.

Two hundred thousand dead wasn’t much of a startling number anymore—it was just Tuesday’s report.

He preferred the readouts of the Dragons and their activities, but as it stood, he could only deploy them at the edges of combat until they gained enough control over their abilities for further combat.

Until then, it was the rogue provinces’ job to deal with the horde.

Still, there might not be a China left to unify if things didn’t happen fast.

Fortunately, he had one more card to play.

He had the Red Bitch herself in his office.

Alice Winters.

Zhao sat at his desk, hands steepled in front of him, a large digital regional map screen laid out before them.

Alice Winters sat in full CAG across from him, her helmet off and at her hip.

“He’s going to arrive here.” She tapped at Longhe on the map, a city in the central north, and a blue ring on the screen fluttered from her touch.

“Why would he go there? He’s already destroyed the city. There’s no strategic advantage. Our analysts do not believe he’ll be there.”

“He’s never looked for tactical or strategic advantage. He’s a monster. He only wants to eat. We need only draw his attention that way.”

“It’s been our effort to get him away from that region. We’ve been coaxing him south, away from population centers.”

“You mean away from your population centers and toward the rogue governors.

Zhao glared. “The northeast holds the capital and the jewels of the nation. However, I didn’t request your presence to lecture me on strategy. Can you kill him?”

“Yes. In Longhe. Move your military forces there and they can confront the horde. The population is already dead so we won’t need to be concerned about casualties. But while your forces deal with his army, I’ll draw him off and limit his strength on the horde. He’s more powerful than I am when it comes to control, so we’ll have to take that away from him.”

“How do you intend to distract him?”

“There’s a military bunker. He’s already ripped it open, so we’ll need technicians to land with us and make sure we have functioning power. There will be leftover creatures there, but I’ll take care of them while your team restores power. We’ll set up inside and narrow his forces. He won’t be able to swarm us. I’ll take your Dragon soldiers with me, we’ll kill him.”

“How do you know he’ll follow?”

Alice twisted her head and Zhao felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Her eyes focused on him in a way that asked, isn't it obvious?

“Because I’m going to invite him.”

26

THE RAIN DROPPED IN BUCKETS, mixing with blood and oil in pits in the ground, but Erkin didn’t mind.

He remembered this place.

He peeled this bunker open like a can of soup.

I’m here.

He heard the voice inside his head again, but this time, it wasn’t a whisper.

It was a boom that made him shake.

The little bitch had come a few days earlier, hiding in the dark of the hive mind and whispering to him, but too afraid to step into view.

He could feel her scratching around and peeking into his mind, barely more than an itch. He didn’t know what she was searching for, but if he ever got his hands on her in this world or the other. . .

Well she might be afraid, but he wasn’t.

With the pressure gone in his helmet and the constant string of migraines finally relieved, he’d been having the time of his life until she started bothering him.

I’m here.

Who would have the audacity to approach him? To beckon him?

He’d destroyed countless armies and broken cities. He’d scratched his fingernails against the inside of a god’s skull and ate its brain, and now . . . now . . .

I’m here.

“It’s a trap,” a man with a bloated head told Erkin, standing on the ruins of the bunker they’d already torn apart. “They’re calling you down to attack you. Send your creatures inside. Let them go below and you wait here. Their job is to die and yours is to live.”

Erkin listened, his chin down but the cameras wired into his brain sucking in the view all around him of the broken tanks and smashed barriers he’d destroyed on his last visit.

His tooled appendage snapped out, pierced the man’s bloated head, and drew him close. He gagged as the sharp end of Erkin’s third arm worked inside his unnatural brain.

Erkin widened his grin and bared his red teeth. “When invited to a game, it’s rude not to play.”

“You-you could die,” the man struggled with his mouth agape.

“Does a Dragon cower in fear of death? Or does it walk into the darkness ready to breathe fire?”

Ekrin’s third arm angled up and the man slid off of it. His tongue hung from his mouth as he rolled around on the ground pressing his skull back together.

Erkin twisted on his feet and held his hands high. “Now everyone!” he shouted with giddy anticipation. “Let’s see what’s inside!”

The horde flowed over the remains of the bunker’s surface as they moved toward the large freight elevator. Erkin stepped inside and hell flowed in with him as the horde filled every inch of the space. Clawed and fanged beasts jumped and squirmed, ready for acts of war.

The elevator controls were destroyed; Erkin was sure that’d happened the last time, but someone had opened the paneling and wired in a new control system.

He didn’t have the codes or anything to move it, but an ugly worm that wasn’t good for much else snaked up to the panel and put its mouth on it. Little veins crept out from its mouth and into the electrical system

The elevator went down.

Erkin’s hands itched, clenching open and closed like claws.

I’m here.

The sound of her voice in his head enraged him and he screamed.

“Kill everything!” he ordered as the elevator dinged and opened.

Chaos erupted among the sounds of weapons and shrieks of monsters as the cronux poured out.

Erkin pointed, his head leaned back as he roared.

“But leave me the woman!”

WHEN THEY LEFT Zhao’s office, he brought Alice to a room with five Dragon soldiers.

None rose to meet her eyes or stand at attention when she entered. It wasn’t until Zhao barked that they got to their feet.

They weren’t soldiers. They were half-starved, short dregs dragged in off of some street.

And they were scared.

She’d been like them once.

Afraid.

Lost.

Confused.

She understood them in ways no one else could.

All Zhao might have seen was Alice looking them over and waiting for their eye contact.

But Alice spoke to them in the hive mind with a language only they could comprehend.

Follow me. Trust me. And we will kill your enemies.

We are human. They are not.

Each in turn lifted their heads and met her eyes.

They were lost, yes, but they were weapons. Untapped power held with uncertain hands.

And now she had their trust.

But it would take more than that to kill a Dragon.

Now, deep within the bunker, with its functions brought back online with emergency power, the lights flickered overhead while Alice waited.

A white glowing number above the freight elevator door counted down as Erkin descended, and Alice felt him drawing close.

“I’m here,” she whispered to him as she felt the rage building inside him.

He was a hurricane, built to destroy, but she was a shadow able to move in and out unnoticed.

“Hold steady,” Alice said on her comms to all the soldiers in position. All around her, American Marines and Chinese royal soldiers took cover and waited for a target.

The white numbers flashed until they got to her level.

Then they stopped.

With a ding and a groan, the freight doors opened.

“Kill everything!”

The demons spewed from the elevator and the soldiers began firing.

“But leave me the woman!”

Erkin’s words echoed through the hive mind.

Alice snapped up her rifle and leaned from her corner position.

Tat-tat-tat.

Her rifle bucked as she fired rounds into a galloping beast.

One soldier threw a frag at the elevator, but something jumped up and ate it midair. It exploded from its side. It went down and wobbled up on one leg and kicked around in a circle.

A Chinese royal guard with a shoulder-mounted launcher let off a blast, but a massive creature threw its body in the path, catching the missile with its face and bending around it. Fire erupted, but most was absorbed by its body.

More creatures came in, charging through the ground fire.

A flame trooper let loose on a group of infected men, charring their bodies. Creatures like rabid monkeys leaped over the dead and landed on him. The trooper screamed and fought as they clawed at him.

The room filled with chaos and the lines broke.

One of the Dragon soldiers rose from his cover as something barreled in his direction. He screamed and stood, holding out his hand. The creature froze, but the next one didn’t. It hurtled forward and took his head off.

“I told you to wait, dammit!” Alice ordered, her voice carrying through their CAG communication.

Another Dragon did as she instructed. He hid and the creatures went past him. Alice could feel them both.

She took cover behind a beam. An approaching creature looked her directly in the eyes and kept walking.

She was a Ghost, and she would remain unseen.

It wasn’t until Erkin stepped from the elevator, his massive dome head visible, that she was ready.

She pulled a pin on a grenade.

“Kill him,” she said as she threw it.

It landed near him, but before it hit, the hulking beast beside him jumped in the way and took the damage with its hide.

Erkin pointed at Alice just as she raised her rifle.

Another creature jumped up on a desk near her and hissed. She squeezed a fist and it instantly collapsed.

Something like a man but with much longer arms smashed onto the ceiling and crawled across it with wicked ease, racing toward her.

Just as she threw her hand at it, she felt a push.

“No.”

It was Erkin’s voice, and she could hear the joy behind it.

The creature slashed toward Alice, but a group of Marines fired at it until it fell.

Alice left her position and rushed to the squad, dropping down to a knee and sliding in behind them. She thrust another hand up into the air and fought for control of the horde, but it was no use, Erkin was stronger.

But that had never been her plan.

Alice leaned her head down and closed her eyes.

FLASHES of light burst in the air along with screams and shrieks.

Erkin prowled forward, his hands raised high. He felt the woman fighting for his control, but he laughed because she was weak.

A soldier got brave and rushed to take cover behind an overturned module. He took aim at Erkin and let loose with his weapon.

Clak-clak-clak.

Each bullet hit the roaring hulk of a beast that bolted in front of Erkin, using its body to shield him.

He waved a hand and the hulk rushed to the soldier, ending his life while Erkin entered an office.

Somehow, the room had escaped the violence while people still fought for their lives just behind them.

There was a Dragon soldier inside. The poor little shit was cowering behind a desk and crying. He had his CAG helmet peeled off and Erkin could see the horror in his eyes. The man raised his hand as Erkin came closer and Erkin felt just the edge of a push from the man—more of scratch than anything else.

Erkin frowned. “Poor baby,” he said. Then his tooled appendage struck through the man’s skull and he pulled it back, letting the body fall.

He turned from the office and saw an American soldier on the ground fighting for his life as several of the creatures tore at him. They dug under his chin and broke into his CAG helmet.

Erkin walked over top of the body as he continued into the melee. His creatures had broken the line and were overrunning the soldiers.

A royal guard soldier crawled across the ground, his weapon lost somewhere and his legs not working.

Erkin came near him and leaned over. His tooled appendage snapped out again and again while Erkin screamed at the man. The sharp end cracked against the CAG but didn’t break through. A wide-mouthed creature with no arms but powerful legs rushed in and crunched on the man’s back. It shook its head like a dog until the armor broke and gave Erkin room to hit. He thrust his weapon down again and it pierced through the man’s spine.

“Here I am.”

Erkin heard the voice, but it sounded so loud that he wasn’t sure if it was in the hive mind or here.

He froze and leaned up. A frag landed near him, but he remained unconcerned. A creature threw its body on it and absorbed the blast. Erkin looked, but she was nowhere to be seen.

But she felt close

“Where are you?” he yelled.

A creature barreled past him and down the hallway, rifle rounds slamming into its face.

Erkin turned and saw a soldier thrown halfway across the room.

“Where are you?” he screamed again.

“Oh, here you are.”

Erkin was so distracted here that he hadn’t noticed the other world.

He stepped into the hive mind amidst a dark room of inky black. His feet touched the edge of black, rippling water.

Across from him, he saw the woman.

In the real world, Erkin strolled forward and thrust the tooled appendage down into the chest of the CAG. It took three strikes before it broke.

“Is this where you’re hiding?” he asked the woman. “I’m going to find you and peel you like an orange.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” she said, her eyes cloaked in shadows, but he could see her mouth.

She grinned something wicked.

“You think this was a safe place for you? To be in here? I can be in both places at once. I feel that you’re near. I’ll kill you soon.”

Erkin held his hand out as he approached a Dragon who wasn’t wearing CAG. Two royal soldiers formed up on him and tried to protect him, but Erkin’s creatures ripped them away. He bent down and strangled the Dragon to death while his tooled appendage stabbed him over and over, the blood spraying up on his face.

“I needed you distracted so I could go inside and look.”

Erkin stood up from the dead man in the real world and asked, “Oh yeah? What were you looking for?”

“Zemira.”

A quake within Erkin’s mind caused him to stumble as if hit by a boxer. He tried to wipe his face, but only smeared the dead Dragon’s blood across the front-facing cameras on the dome.

“What did you say?” His fury grew even if he wasn’t altogether sure why.

In the hive mind, the woman gestured her hand and a small girl with brown eyes and dark hair leaned out from behind her.

“She’s not real anymore, Erkin, she’s dead. But how would your daughter feel about seeing you like this?”

The girl with the brown eyes was sad.

No, not just sad.

Terrified.

Erkin planted his foot as he doubled over and screamed in the world. “What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything. You did.”

“You’re in here! I can feel you in here!” Erkin shouted.

“Yes, Erkin. I looked inside you. You forgot about her, didn’t you? Did you ever love her?”

And all at once, the memories flooded him and he remembered the house he’d built and his wife.

He remembered the women and children who looked just like them that he’d killed.

Erkin spun around in the world, shouting at all corners of the room.

“You can’t touch her! You can’t take her! You can’t use her against me!”

“I have a child too, Erkin. Remembering him is what keeps me human. It made my heart beat. But you . . . you forgot about her.”

“No!”

“The people you killed, some of them may have been her teachers. Maybe her friends.”

“Fuck you!” Erkin screeched as he collapsed to his knees.

“What do you think she would say if she saw you like this?”

The woman guided the girl out in front of her and Erkin stood frozen as he waited for her to speak.

Even now, he knew she wasn’t real. She was just a memory the woman had taken from him.

“Daddy?”

But her voice . . . It was real. And it was just like he remembered.

Tears dripped down her face.

“You’re scaring me.”

ALICE HELD her hand up and the creatures killed each other. Blood splattered around the room as they tore at each other viciously. When the mob whittled down to something she could control, she squeezed her hand and they fell dead.

She walked over their bodies as the soldiers fanned out, rifles pointed and popping rounds into anything that still moved.

The two surviving Dragons came up alongside Alice as they walked into the center of the room. She pressed the release on her helmet and it popped up. She pulled it off and dropped it onto the floor.

A circle of bodies were around Erkin, the last of his loyal few to die. He was on his knees and sobbing in a language Alice didn’t understand.

She and the Dragon soldiers circled him too and Erkin looked up, mumbling words.

“I understand,” Alice said in this world and the other. “I might be the only person in the world who does. And for all that it counts. I’m sorry.”

Erkin stopped sobbing but stared at her.

“I would help you if I could, but I looked inside your mind and there’s barely anything human left.”

She could see her reflection smeared in blood on the visor of Erkin’s dome.

“You scare me.”

Erkin sobs slowed until he went silent. And then his mouth twisted into a red, bloody grin.

Alice snapped her foot up and kicked him hard in the chest, toppling him over. She pulled her rifle up and fired round after round into his chest. Erkin’s body jerked and snapped as the rounds pounded him.

Her rifle ran empty.

Erkin hissed and squirmed, still not dead.

The Marines came up alongside Alice.

She didn’t look up as she spoke.

“Cut his head off and burn the body.”

27

THE DRAGON WAS DEAD.

This was an unfortunate thing, though not unforeseeable to the Janissary.

The Dragon lived and fought in reckless ways. His mind may have been powerful, but his body was not that of the Archon.

His demise was inevitable.

The Janissary had prepared for such.

Beneath the influence of the Dragon, the Janissary had reached over and communicated with the creatures of evolved intelligence. He sent them deep into the population centers of the east.

They had sown the seeds for wildfire.

And it was time to light the match.

Now.

The Janissary gave them the order and then withdrew his focus. He would let them carry on their ways.

He had other plans.

But he was pleased with what would come.

The cities the enemy guarded so carefully would soon burst in flame, and the dead there would be burnt offerings to the Mother . . .

And to the god-king Archon.

The Archon’s obsession with the woman and her son was a problem.

He needed to take his rightful place and crawl to the center of the world and choke it of life.

But he wouldn’t.

The woman

The Janissary could feel the Archon’s command even now, a weird sense of love that the Janissary neither felt nor understood.

But understanding was never required of him.

Only obedience.

The Janissary turned his attention inward now.

His focus had always been sharp. He hadn’t the strength or power to command the hordes like the Dragon or the Archon, but he had found the little weaknesses in the enemy’s lines.

“Tell me where you are,” he’d asked the boy so many times.

And though the boy would speak with him, he never would reveal himself.

But time was growing short, and reckless or not, the Dragon’s death was a great loss.

And though the Janissary was obedient, he was also wise. Just as the boy and the woman burned with a light within the hive mind, there were others who could be found if one searched carefully enough. And those new to the dark world of the hive mind did not understand the rules or how to hide within it.

There was one small flicker of light deep within the hive mind that was barely noticeable unless one were to look closely.

Fortunately, the Janissary did.

The Janissary had been patient and waited for a special moment such as this.

He stepped deep into the shadows and approached the light.

And when he spoke, he did so with a soft voice.

Hello.

PHIL WILDE HAD DONE his part when he signed on the dotted line and joined the Ghost Program.

He knew the risks.

But he hadn’t expected the voice.

There were so many inside his head now, all calling and screaming, begging and pleading, too many to focus on any one of them.

So many that he wasn’t sure which was his anymore . . .

Now, instead of spending his days and nights kicking ass, he was sitting on the floor of some room far below ground and listening to the voices in his head.

And watching the spiders crawl across the wall.

“Do you see them now?” a doctor asked, but Phil wasn’t sure if the man had actually spoken or if he’d only imagined it.

“Yes,” he answered all the same, his eyes flicking back and forth to the things he could only see.

The doctors kept telling him they weren’t real, but what the fuck did they know? Their voices bent and echoed in ways that weren’t natural and made Phil question if they were real at all.

Besides, the spiders looked pretty fucking real to him.

The horrible things were as big as dinner plates and had long, hairy legs and faces like babies with drooling mouths. They would come and go, squeezing through tiny cracks in the wall like mice, only to squirm aimlessly around on the wall.

Though they never approached, they watched him with their dull eyes, and he was sure they were waiting for him to sleep so they could eat him. Or maybe they were just waiting for him to talk to them.

Either way, he didn’t dare close his eyes and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start a conversation with them.

All he could do was stare.

The doctors had another Ghost come in at one point, but that rotten bastard said he couldn’t see the spiders either. That seemed to settle things and now everyone left Phil to himself most of the time.

No one believed him.

No one could help him.

Hello.

Phil heard the voice that startled him. He thought one of the spiders finally spoke, but this was one of the few times they weren’t crawling around inside the room . He tensed up, wondering if one had finally snuck down to his ear to whisper.

But when he looked around, he didn’t see a damn thing.

“Who said that?” Phil asked.

Me.

It wasn’t the first time a new voice spoke, but strangely, this one had something of a comforting warm breeze to it that washed over Phil.

And it was coming from the hive mind.

“Hello?” Phil asked, now within the hive mind.

As he spoke in that world, he opened his eyes to it and saw a shadow some distance from him.

“Who are you?” Phil asked.

A friend. I can feel how scared you are. No one will help.

“It’s the spiders. They’re scaring me. No one else sees them.”

I see them. I can kill them. Can I come over? Can you let me in?

In the real world, Phil took deep, sharp breaths, more from fear than a necessity to breathe. But the warm breeze came again and steadied his breathing.

Can I come in? the shadow asked once more.

Phil looked to the empty wall with one set of eyes and down to the shadow with another.

“They aren’t here,” he said in both worlds.

No, but they will come again soon, won’t they?

Phil nodded. He was sure they would.

And even if they didn’t, he realized now that the other voices had quieted in his head.

It was as if, for the first time in a long time, he could finally breathe.

Can I come? the voice asked again.

“Yes,” Phil said in both worlds.

The shadow pulled away from where it was hiding and came closer, but with each step, Phil could see that it wasn’t shaped like how he expected it to be.

The legs and arms looked too long and the eyes . . .

How many did it have?

It was too late now, but he could see it wasn’t a man at all.

It was something far worse than the spiders.

Now.

The voice quaked inside Phil’s skull and it felt as if sharp fingers were digging into Phil’s brain.

I’m looking for a boy.

28

FEW PEOPLE KNEW what it was like to be eaten alive.

Gray Fox was one of them.

When the creatures fell upon him, their teeth ripped at his body. Some were driven by such insanity that they even gnawed on the mechanized limbs, breaking their teeth against the metal.

He fought and screamed as the Dragon’s creatures chewed on him, all while knowing it was useless. His body still had the wounds where huge mouthfuls were torn out of him.

But the pain of that didn’t compare at all to when the Dragon’s parasite dug into his skull.

His body was old, scarred, and numb, but his mind was as fresh as it ever was.

Which was why it was so painful when the little wisps dug under his skin and snaked up into the brain. They dug inside like a mole on a flat patch of dirt. Gray Fox’s eyes crossed as tears ran down his face. And he screamed, spraying blood and vomit on all the creatures who stood nearby.

It felt as if the little wisps had wrapped around his soul and choked it out of his body.

He’d been aware that something else was trying to take his place, but he was powerless to resist.

So he died.

And a great black fog came over him.

But he knew now that he wasn’t gone.

He just wasn’t in the driver’s seat anymore.

A strange thing happened when the Dragon had him eat the brain of the creature with evolved intelligence.

Each bite made his mind fizz and pop. Things grew back and reconnected, and the short of it was that Gray Fox was no longer dead, though he still wasn’t the same.

But there were parts of his mind—bits and pieces that were core to his soul.

And the parasite swallowed those bits.

It didn’t kill Gray Fox.

It became him.

And though Gray Fox had died, he’d also woken again.

And he had retained not only certain skills and abilities, but he also kept his memory.

Zhao.

He hated Zhao.

And even if he were no longer the same person he had been, he still remembered the echoes of oaths he’d made, and there was one name that he needed to check off the list.

Zhao.

The change had happened some time ago.

It took time to cross China and the sea.

But Gray Fox was versatile, uncanny even.

He was the Curse of the East Wind.

He knew how to move unseen.

And soon . . . soon . . .

He would settle the debt he owed Zhao.

“THE CHAIRMAN WILL SEE YOU NOW.”

A young man in a clean, pressed suit bowed to Miles, who had been lazing about in the waiting room.

“Right on time,” Miles complained as he glanced at his watch. They’d been waiting for two hours. Miles patted Endo on the shoulder. “Guess the celebrations are over. Won’t be but a few, mate.”

Endo, himself in a suit and tie, nodded. “I’ll be waiting.” He rested in a chair with his duffel at his feet.

Miles stood and stretched. He stuck a finger into his collar and tugged; it felt tight, but didn’t they always?

He gathered his bag with signed documents from the rogue provinces—all promises and agreements to Zhao in favor of reunification.

Miles approached the large double doors and stopped. He’d gotten so used to the formalities here that he glanced back at the young secretary and pointed. “So, I just open it myself?”

The man tipped his head, his hands folded in front of him.

Miles grabbed the door and opened it, which took a little more effort than he expected, making him grunt. He heard the pop of rubber coating that soundproofed the room as it opened.

And all at once, Miles heard voices in the room.

“He’s dead.”

He lifted an eyebrow as he stepped inside and the heavy door closed behind him.

Only a single lamp lit the room, but there was a massive screen on the wall playing a vid on repeat.

“He’s dead.”

An American soldier clad in CAG held up the decapitated head of the Dragon. The dome was so awkward and without a grip that the man had his fingers around the Dragon’s jaw, holding it all upside down. Blood oozed between his fingers and over the edges of the dome.

In the background, Miles saw soldiers mulling around inside the bunker, firing rounds into seemingly dead creatures all over the floor.

The Red Bitch had slain the Dragon.

Miles had read as much in an encrypted message on his datapad, but this was the first he’d seen it.

“He’s dead.”

Miles looked across the room and saw an array of traditional art. Masks that looked like they were peeled off the skulls of demons, along with swords, halberds, and other bladed weapons.

And there was Zhao’s desk with its embedded computer and a bottle of traditional Taiwanese wine open and waiting beside an empty glass.

Miles exhaled. He’d had a glass of that wine before. It wasn’t at all what westerners expected from wine. He was sure he could have lit the fumes of his breath on fire after a round.

Zhao had a glass in his hand. Miles could see that even from the other side of the room. The chairman was at a massive tinted window, enjoying the view of the sea.

“Got quite the atmosphere going here, don’t you?” Miles asked. “Bit gloomy for my tastes.”

“He’s dead.”

Zhao turned from the window and Miles saw that the glass was empty.

“Ahh, and I thought I might have missed the celebrations.” Miles' face shined.

Zhao had a smile that stretched across his face, but he wore it strangely—a person unaccustomed to revealing himself.

Despite Zhao’s apparent joy, Miles felt a prickle of pain in his chest. Somehow, Zhao looked more frightful than the pictures Miles had seen.

“Mr. Westwood, would you care for a drink?” Zhao gestured toward the bottle as he approached it.

The vid repeated just as Zhao stepped in front of it, the Dragon’s head still oozing behind him.

“He’s dead.”

A nervous tension crawled up Miles’ neck, but he had long since made a habit of hiding fear, and returned with a grin. “I’ve certainly never been known to turn down a drink.”

Zhao grabbed the bottle and poured it into the empty glass. “I’m told you’ve brought me documentation.”

“Printed on good ole paper in a language I can’t read,” Miles said. He took the file from his bag and set it on the desk. “We’ve got English copies too that we’d like you to sign since the US is an agreeing party.”

Zhao made no movement toward the documents. Instead, he set the bottle on top of them, then offered the glass to Miles.

Beads of spilled wine rolled down the bottle to stain the file.

“Have a drink,” Zhao said with a gesture.

“Hmm.” Miles cleared his throat as he took it.

Zhao held his glass up and Miles did the same.

“Cheers, mate,” Miles said before taking a drink. He made a face as the heat hit him. He exhaled sharply and shook his head.

Zhao chuckled under his breath. As he took up the bottle and revealed the stained ring on the file, he poured for them both again.

“He’s dead.”

Zhao set the bottle on the file again, a new ring already forming.

Miles’ gaze flicked from the file to the vid as it replayed.

He saw the Dragon’s ragged mouth and the soldier’s fingers dug inside it. The vid was sharp and he could see each drop of blood running between the soldier’s fingers—much like the wine bottle.

Zhao noticed his focus and turned to watch himself.

“He’s dead.”

The soldier’s voice was cold, and for whatever reason, this time it made the skin on Miles’ neck prickle.

But perhaps that was the wine or the rings on the files.

. . . Or that Zhao still hadn’t looked at the paperwork.

“Such a disappointment,” he said, though the joy on his face never cracked.

Miles wiped his lips now that Zhao wasn’t looking at him, and made a twisted look of disgust at the newly filled glass.

“Well, as the vid says, not much of an issue anymore, right? Dragons aren’t much of a problem once they expire.”

Zhao cleared his throat in agreement.

Miles looked back down to the file and up to Zhao, who was still fixated on the vid.

“Mate, if you could do me kindly, I find decapitated heads to be a bit of a distraction,” Miles said.

Zhao looked at him as if he’d only just now entered the room.

He’s fucking toasted . . .

This wasn’t what Miles expected of the great chairman’s reputation, but Miles had been around the world and seen enough drunks to know that sometimes powerful men deal with fear in strange ways.

Fear, and sometimes excitement.

“I’ve got my reports from the state department. Alice Winters will be heading back here and we’ll all be flying out soon. But if I could get your name on the papers, we can fold this all up, mate. With the Dragon dead, all that’s left is for the cleanup.”

“It was a bit easier than I expected,” Zhao offered and took a drink. But he wasn’t looking at Miles.

He was looking at the vid.

“Didn’t seem easy to me,” Miles said.

“He’s dead.”

The voice was hitting Miles like a punch to the chest each time now.

“When Alice Winters came here and offered her plan, it wasn’t what I expected. I foresaw months playing out with games of war. And when she told me her plan . . . a plan to end things in a day, I thought she was absurd.”

Miles’ smile cracked, but he held it together. He wasn’t all together certain Zhao was even listening to him anyway. “Whole world’s absurd these days, isn’t that right?”

“Mmm.” Zhao offered in agreement and he muttered something in Mandarin.

“Didn’t catch that, mate.”

Zhao’s eyes flashed at Miles. “Nothing important.” He returned to the vid.

Still no movement toward the documents.

Miles cleared his throat. “The sooner we get the ball rolling, the sooner we all come together to clean things up. We all bleed red and all that.”

“Yes,” Zhao said, his eyes still focused.

He took another drink, and when he turned from the screen, he looked at Miles’ glass and then met Miles’ eyes, and without words, made Miles feel compelled to drink.

Miles inspected the glass in his hands and then swallowed all that remained. This time, he didn’t make a face.

“Chairman,” he said with all the formality he could muster. “I would appreciate it if you could ink those documents.”

Zhao reached toward the desk.

He picked up the bottle.

With the glass still in Miles’ hand, Zhao poured him another drink.

When Zhao finished, he set it on the documents again, a third red ring to be formed. “The more time I’ve spent in consideration, the more concerned I’ve become with the rogue provinces.”

Miles felt an itch.

He knew where this was going.

“No need,” Miles insisted. “We worked out the agreements. Much of it’s just what you asked. The governors will live in exile in the United States and their successors will take over. They’ll remain loyal to the government.”

Zhao took another drink.

“He’s dead.”

The voice hit again and Miles ground his teeth while looking up at it.

“This vid have a pause button?”

Zhao ignored him.

“The traitors are being offered too much. When China was vulnerable, they sought only their own power. But the Dragon is gone, and their leverage with it.”

“No,” Miles said, his voice sharp as he sat the glass down with a thump on the desk and wine sloshed out. It was louder than he intended, but perhaps the wine was getting to him.

The sound snapped Zhao’s focus on him, but the joy he had was gone and his gaze was keen again, though a little cloudy from drink.

“You said the Dragon is gone, but what you meant is that the Dragon Program is under your control again.”

Zhao stood silent, refuting nothing.

“You’ve got the navy, you’ve got the Dragons, and now there’s a leaderless horde in central China. And all I’ve got is a few pieces of paper with some signatures.”

Zhao had a reputation for making men buckle under his gaze. Miles could understand it. The man’s eyes bored into him.

But if Miles was afraid at all, it wasn’t what showed. Instead, he laughed.

“You know, mate.” Miles shook a finger and let the anger lift from his voice. “I’ve been thinking too . . .”

“He’s dead,” the voice hit, and it made Miles’ pulse beat harder.

He felt heat rise in his throat, but he still wore a smile. “Someone tried to kill me in Hubei, and I take that sort of thing personally. My mate out there, he suspected it could have been one of those rogue governors wanting to sour any deal to end their insurrection. But who knows? Might have just been some bastard that didn’t like foreigners mucking about in his country, yeah?” Miles snatched up his glass and wine spilled. He grabbed the bottle and poured more until it spilled over the rim

“I’m sure you’ve heard, though, I’m just a fucking git. A real idiot.” Miles’ grin was sincere. “But me . . .”

Zhao watched in disgust as Miles thrust the bottle at Zhao’s glass and poured until it ran over and down to his hands.

“He’s dead.”

Miles hurled the bottle and hit the screen, putting a crack in it.

Zhao lifted his lip and showed his teeth as he cursed in Mandarin.

Miles pointed a finger at him, still grinning like an idiot. “I think it was you, you fucking cunt. You tried to kill us. Had us go there like stooges and kill us so the Americans would become enraged. Ole John Winters might think they killed us because we rejected their terms, and then you could make your power play with American support to squash the little pissants, ain’t that right?”

Zhao shouted in Mandarin now, his face full of rage as he tossed his glass aside. It hit a wall with a sword and it fell off.

“Tell you what, though, maybe your Dragon’s dead, but our Ghost isn’t.” Miles laughed loudly and shook his head. “Oh, she’s already in town, just a phone call away, and twice as powerful as that poor bastard you tortured.” Miles gestured toward the screen. “She killed that SOB in a day, how long do you think it’ll take her to choke the life out of you, Chairman?” he spat the word.

Zhao’s voice quieted but he still showed his teeth and mumbled hateful words.

“You’ve got until I get my arse on the plane to put your signature on those papers and give them to me or all bets are off, you fucking wanker.” Miles took a drink from the glass and tossed the rest of it aside to spill on the floor.

“He’s dead.”

“This fucking thing,” Miles said with a gesture. “Each word is like a nail in my head. Only someone batshit lunatic would want to look at that over and over again.”

Zhao yelled in Mandarin and threw a gesture toward the door to Miles.

But all the hate and vile had blown off of Miles and he only laughed. “Mate, I’ll gladly see myself out if only so I don’t have to watch this any—” He pointed at the screen, but his words choked as he saw a shadow form in the window.

Zhao took a step closer to Miles and threw his hand at the door again, still cursing.

“Mate, cut the shit.” Miles pointed.

Zhao turned around as the shadow peeked up.

The shadow had a face on a massive head with bits of metal and equipment laced through it.

The alcohol seemed to put weight in their feet as they both stood in wide-eyed confusion as the shadow reared back and burst in.

It was only then, with the glass raining inside, that Miles stumbled backward, his hands up to protect his face.

The shadow was a man with more mechanical bits and pieces than Miles had ever seen—more than he imagined a human mind could accept. He stood, his strange, backward fox-like legs extending him to a massive height.

Clak-clak-clak.

There was the sound of snapping as a sword unfolded from the machine-man.

Miles shook his head and mumbled.

“Why does this keep happening to me . . .”

The machine-man took two strides forward while Zhao only watched. And in those final moments, Miles saw him straighten his back and stare forward with defiance.

It meant little, though, when the machine-man thrust his sword through Zhao’s chest.

Zhao’s eyes went wide and he spat blood as the machine-man lifted him into the air.

Miles had seen enough and he turned away to run toward the exit with the sounds of Zhao’s painful gagging following him out.

He slammed into the door, and in a panic, searched for a handle.

There wasn’t one.

He shoved hard against it, but it didn’t so much as budge.

Maybe there was a command on Zhao’s desk to open the lock. Or maybe it was some stupid-ass design that wouldn’t make any sense to a lowlife like him.

Either way, he wasn’t getting out.

Miles turned back and saw the machine-man grab Zhao by the neck with his other hand and rip him sideways. The sword split out from Zhao’s stomach, spinning him and throwing his intestines on the floor as his body slapped to the ground.

Miles flattened his back, feeling very much like a trapped rabbit.

The machine-man turned to face him now, his eyes ghoulish and hungry.

“Now, listen, mate,” Miles said with uncomfortable laughter. “I didn’t like the arsehole either.”

The machine-man’s body groaned as he took a step forward.

Through it all, with blood and wine sprayed across its broken screen, the vid kept playing.

“He’s dead.”

ENDO WAITED in the lounge as Miles went inside the room. He noted the soft click from the desk before the door opened along with a sound like a suction cup popping on the door that was surely a seal that made it soundproof.

Zhao had apparently taken great efforts to conduct his business in private in his office away from Beijing.

There wasn’t much for Endo to do now, not after having returned from the meetings in central China. Despite not at all being a diplomat and woefully under trained for such things, Miles was able to secure agreements from all noteworthy parties.

Miles was a strange character indeed. Endo had seen and heard of other diplomatic missions failing over small misunderstandings in etiquette. Miles seemed to be able to step outside of culture and carry himself in his own way and still connect with people.

With the exception of what happened in Hubei, Endo had done little else but accompany Miles and keep a watchful eye.

But now, all he had to do was watch their bags.

The minutes ticked by, but he waited patiently. The secretary stayed at his desk, making and answering calls in a quieted voice.

Nervous tension crawled up Endo’s neck. He wasn’t sure why. Years of training and experience offered an unnatural sense of danger.

Miles was only supposed to get Zhao’s signature and then they could depart, but it was taking too long. Zhao had already made them wait two hours.

Endo leaned toward his bag and grabbed the zipper, sliding it down. He adjusted the bag so it was open toward his hand. Then he stiffened in his seat and stared at the door.

“Is something wrong?” the secretary asked in Mandarin.

Endo ignored him, his eyes staying focused on the door.

“Sir?” the secretary asked again.

The door rocked as something slammed against it and a large blade jutted through, already red with blood.

“Open the door!” Endo shouted, already out of his seat and moving, his sword in hand.

The secretary gasped and stared.

Endo came against his desk, shoved him aside, and reached in, finding a white button. He pressed it and the door clicked.

The sword yanked and shook before coming out of the door with a terrible scrape.

Endo rushed to it and grabbed the handle. He’d seen how hard it was for Miles to open, so he threw one leg against the other side and hefted it wide.

“He’s dead,” came a voice from the dark room.

Endo entered and saw a massive monster of a man standing in the center of the room, a long blade connected into his arm, and Zhao was dead, his insides lining the floor.

“Fuck!” Miles screamed and ran in one direction.

The man was fitted with machines. His legs were entirely metal and lined with gears and hydraulics, while other mechanical bits were connected into his body.

The machine-man shifted a look toward Endo, his face rabid and evil.

“Die,” he called out in Mandarin.

Endo held up his blade.

“No.”

MILES BROKE from the wall right as the machine-man plunged his blade into the heavy wood. He could swear he felt the ground shake.

He cursed Zhao’s dead body for the alcohol as he felt the heat rise in his throat. He felt dull and stupid as he looked for a way out of the room besides the broken window.

He came up empty and turned his attention back to the machine-man who snarled and gave two violent yanks of his arm before his weapon came loose.

Miles sighed. “Ah shit.”

The machine-man turned his semi truck of a chest toward Miles, heaving with angered breath.

Miles glanced down at Zhao and up at the machine-man.

Now that he took a closer look, he could see the wisps lacing through the man’s body as if the parasite was all that kept him sewn together, and his eyes burned with madness as he focused on Miles.

“He’s dead,” said the vid, but this time, it sounded more like an umpire calling Miles out of a game.

The door opened behind the machine-man as he started his prowl toward Miles.

“Fuck!” Miles screamed in frustration.

Gears groaned and hydraulics popped as the machine-man took a step forward and stopped. His neck muscles tightened as he turned around to look at something behind him.

Miles leaned to the side and saw Endo standing there with his sword and no armor.

The machine-man growled out something in Mandarin and Endo held his sword higher.

“No,” was all Endo said.

“You dumb bastard,” Miles mumbled.

The machine-man charged at Endo and there was a crash as his sword swung down and smashed into the ground, snapping the tile in half. Endo moved like lightning and avoided the blow.

Miles blinked hard and watched, his mouth agape.

He never knew a man could move so fast.

The machine-man roared and slashed again and again.

Endo dodged and weaved from each strike, and Miles was sure if one were to catch him, without armor, the pure strength of the blow would break him in half. Endo snapped his blade out as the machine-man swung his empty fist.

He roared like an enraged gorilla as Endo’s blade took his fist off at the wrist, but he was up and moving before Endo could push him.

Blood swung from the wound as he moved and wisps swam out in tangles, ready to grab Endo if he got too close.

“He’s dead.” The voice came again and snapped Miles from his fixation, but now it sounded like it was calling out Endo’s fate.

“I know!” Miles turned and screamed at the screen, his hands held uselessly in front of him. He searched the room again, but all he saw were swords and other old weapons he had no idea how to handle.

There was a boom as the machine-man jumped and landed, smashing the flooring but still gaining no advantage.

The door.

It was open now. Miles took a deep breath and sprinted past the duel and into the waiting room.

He saw Endo’s bag on the floor and looked over to see the secretary behind the desk frantically screaming at a vid screen.

“Mate!” Miles said as he ran over. “You gotta call someone, there’s—”

The secretary turned to him and started blurting something in Mandarin.

Miles reached over the desk and grabbed him by the shirt. “Mate, all I speak is English! Where the hell is security?”

The man shook his head as he found his focus. “They’re coming, but it’s happening all over! They’re all over the city now!”

Miles’ eyes went wide as he let go of the secretary and raced toward a window. He looked outside and saw people in the street running in panic.

“Fucking—” he started as he turned away, then he saw a fire hose suppressor on the wall in a glass case.

He ran over to the case and grabbed the handle; as he yanked it open, a red alarm went off overhead. He reached inside and grabbed the end of the hose, but it was wrapped around a wheel that wouldn’t turn.

“What the hell is this?” Miles cursed as he pulled back and looked at the center of the wheel. It had buttons and switches with instructions in Mandarin. “You!” Miles shouted and pointed at the secretary.

The man leaned up from his desk and stared at Miles with fearful eyes.

“Get over here and show me how to use this!”

THE HEAVY BLADE slammed down with the force of a hammer, but Endo moved before it hit. Zhao’s expensive tile shattered into pieces, but the machine-man was already coming forward, his blade slashing through the air.

For all his drunken, barbarian rage, Endo could tell the man’s skill. He’d tried to chase Endo into a corner and nearly did so twice now. The machine-man was so large he controlled their movement, but Endo had the speed to avoid him.

“He’s dead,” the vid left on repeat went on.

Endo had given it half a glance, but the screens were spiderwebbed and it looked like a man was holding something bloody, but that was all he’d been able to take from it.

Zhao’s body lay not too far from the screen, his intestines leaked out from his stomach.

The machine-man didn’t move or act like a cronux, but Endo could see the wisps crawling out of his wounds.

Whatever he was, it was something he had never seen before.

The machine-man swung his heavy blade and Endo ducked low. If he was armored, he might have tried to parry, but the force alone from the blow could throw him off-balance. He might have even tried to cut through the machine-man’s sword arm, but without the CAG, he wouldn’t have the strength to do it, and it could cause him to lose his own sword.

The best he had now was to wait for the machine-man to tire.

But he had yet to slow and Endo wasn’t altogether sure he would.

The machine-man screamed and took a towering step forward as he whipped his blade again, but this time, when Endo moved, he’d been careless and stepped onto Zhao’s blood. He nearly lost his footing but caught himself, but it slowed him down half a second and it was all the machine-man needed to bring his foot up and kick Endo in the chest.

The power behind it threw Endo back enough that it could have broken his ribs.

Endo gasped as he hit and skidded across the floor. By instinct alone, he rolled over to a knee as the machine-man bounded through the air.

He rolled as the machine-man smashed into the ground.

With pain surging in his ribs, Endo lifted his sword again and sucked in loud breaths, one hand cradling his side.

“Move!” Miles yelled from the entrance.

Endo dove out of the way just as the machine-man turned his attention to the door.

The secretary watched with stunned, wide eyes as Miles pulled back on a lever on the hose and made it spew fire suppressant foam across the room, hitting the machine-man in the face.

Insane with rage, the machine-man slashed at the air as it blinded him.

Endo climbed to his feet and dashed across the room.

“Go, go, go!” Miles yelled as he kept up the spray.

Endo sprinted past the two men and headed to the CAG.

The entrance of the waiting room burst open and a squad of armored security came in with open-face CAG. The secretary screamed in Mandarin and pointed while the squad ran into Zhao’s office with their weapons pointed.

“Shit on this!” Miles said and dropped the hose before rushing into the waiting room.

“What happened?” Endo asked as he tore open his bag.

“Fuck if I know, mate. The gorilla jumped in and killed Zhao and now it’s popping off all over the city. Again.” Miles cried in frustration as he pointed out a window.

Endo glanced toward the window and back to his bag as he ripped it open.

“Tell our flight crew we need a pickup.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they can fly a cargo jet over this way, mate,” Miles said, his face skewed with panic.

“Do it anyway,” Endo told him.

“All right.” Miles rose to his feet and pulled out his phone. “What are you going to do?”

Endo didn’t look up as he put the chest armor on.

“I’m going to kill that thing.”

“That it?” Miles asked as he dialed.

Endo barely listened to him as he snapped on the armor.

Most people required assistance to get into CAG, but Endo had trained to do it by himself. But just behind him, he heard the security team screaming and firing as some of them died.

Endo hurried to get each piece on, but even with his training, it took time as they snapped into place and sealed.

It was only after he pulled his last boot on and it connected that he stood and grabbed his helmet.

“Mate,” Miles said with a frightful shake of his head, “they said they can’t do a damn thing for us, but command told us to stay put and they’ll send someone.”

Endo nodded as he set the helmet on his head. It sank and connected; instantly, a status screen opened up, showing Endo’s vitals.

He snatched his uranium split sword from the ground and turned his attention back to the room. He rushed in and saw two members of the security team dead on the ground with Zhao, and another speared on the machine-man’s blade as he held it up high.

The speared man coughed and screamed as blood poured from his mouth, and the machine-man swung his arm aside, throwing the man off. The last two security officers fired their guns at him, but the rounds hit the metal and popped off.

“Kill you all, you useless bastards!” the machine-man cursed as he swung his blade, taking off a man’s leg and sending it slapping across the floor like a skipped stone. The security officer collapsed to the ground and cried out in pain as blood shot from the wound.

The machine-man pulled his blade up, ready to slam it down again, but glanced up too late to see Endo charging.

With the added strength, Endo leaped through the air as the machine-man swung. Endo tucked his legs tight enough that he went right over the weapon just as he swung his blade.

Endo’s weapon went right through the upper half of the machine-man’s head. The top came loose and slapped onto the floor, leaving only the chin and jaw. Endo landed as the body staggered and collapsed to the ground.

He didn’t spare the chance and was on him again.

With three wicked slashes, he took off the man’s human arm, the wisps still squirming. Endo turned the blade over in his hand and slammed it point down into the shoulder of the bladed arm.

He dug it down deep and cranked it forward, crushing and tearing the metal and wiring to split the arm off. Wisps snaked out from the open wounds in the neck and Endo pointed toward the bottle on the floor. “Give me the wine!” he screamed in Mandarin.

The last security officer, standing in shock, turned and searched until he saw the bottle. He grabbed it and handed it over.

Endo dumped what remained onto the machine-man, even as the headless body tried to rise again.

He dug a matchstick out of a pouch and cracked it with his thumb. He dropped the flame onto the machine-man’s back and it went up with a small blaze.

Spilled alcohol on the floor caught too, making a snaking trail on the ground as the dying body writhed and twitched in the flame, still threatening to stand. Endo pulled his blade from the ground and slammed it down again through the spine, pinning the body in place.

With that done, he stood and stumbled back. He took his helmet off and breathed deep. The security officer stood some distance away, his hands behind his head and watching in horror.

“Mate,” Miles said and slapped Endo on the shoulder.

It actually made Endo take a sharp breath. He’d been so distracted he hadn’t noticed Miles get close.

“You made that look easy.”

Endo flashed a dull look at Miles.

29

ALICE’S RIFLE was slung over her shoulder and her helmet cradled to her hip as the doors for the freight elevator opened.

Ding.

Her hand came up instantly as the light from the midday sky peeked in.

A horde of creatures waited for them, part of the remnant of Erkin’s horde. There were a thousand or more sets of claws and teeth that jawed and snapped in anticipation as the elevator rose. They shrieked in horror and pain, as their god had died, and now, they tore at each other in blind rage and anger while they waited for more meat to arrive.

They had a new master.

“Die,” Alice said with a squeeze of her fist.

They dropped in rows like dominoes as the crushing wave of Alice’s command rolled over them. Some were too large and powerful to die outright, and instead, she twisted her hand and they turned on each other.

Alice held her hand high as she stepped out onto the dirt, and with her comms open to the soldiers, she gave them the command.

“Kill everything.”

The soldiers went out, rifles blasting and fire belching onto monstrous flesh.

They walked through the horror and the surviving Dragon soldiers walked alongside Alice. One Dragon, who couldn’t have been much older than twenty, carried Erkin’s head upside down so it wouldn’t leak so much.

“It’s your turn,” Alice said, and her words were translated to the Dragons. She lowered her hand and eased her control just as they raised theirs. She stood by as they took control of the horde.

After this, they had to go to Longhe and mop up what remained of—

Wait.

Alice let go of all of her control and leaned up.

She could feel things deep in the hive mind, like flashes of light off a mountain in the distance.

New waves were awakening.

She stretched into the hive mind and felt things coming alive.

An American soldier rushed over to her. “Winters, there’s a call coming through from command and they want you to answer.”

“All right,” Alice said as she set her helmet on her head. It sank down and connected, the screen coming online instantly.

“Winters.”

Roles’ voice was unmistakable.

Alice had been expecting the director and couldn’t hide her surprise.

“Yeah? What is it, Roles?” she asked.

There was the sound of ice bouncing around in a glass as he took a drink.

“We’re getting a bit of a situation . . .”

“ZHAO’S DEAD.”

That was Roles’ first surprise call of the evening, and it came from none other than Miles Westwood, who was currently holed up in Taiwan.

What it meant, though, was that all their signed documents amounted to little more than paper you could wipe your ass with until they could find out who would replace Zhao to keep the agreement.

But Roles knew how to play his cards.

He contacted the Taiwanese governor and told him he signed the documents, then they’d dispatch the Red Bitch to clean up before skipping off to America.

Agreement came easily.

“You hold tight and catch a flight out with Winters when she’s done,” he’d told Miles.

That left him the rest of the day to field calls.

He clicked a vid now and saw a man strolling into a bank in Hamburg, Germany. Inside, the man popped like he’d eaten a mouthful of firecrackers and was currently swinging six fresh, bloody arms.

Roles grunted, tired and displeased. He clicked it off and took a drink.

Other than Ghosts, there were no plans or procedures to detect the awful things. They theorized that maybe, in time, they could develop a blood sampling program, but Roles wasn’t sure how the hell they would implement that on such a wide scale.

No. By his measure, they were in the endgame.

One way or the other.

A vid screen buzzed and flashed in front of him. A bald-headed Soviet general had just lost half his attacking force and was now pleading for more Ghosts.

“We lack the facilities for our own program. The Ghost was killed when he was overrun while on mission. We are in need of at least three more assets. We heard that—”

The screen popped and froze as a message flashed in the corner of the screen.

RECONNECTING . . .

Roles made a face. “Well, at least he only asked for three,” he said out loud and took a drink of his whiskey, his third glass of the day. He rotated his chair to look at another screen on his desk as he tapped a few keys.

A small vid popped up and he got a live feed through Alice’s helmet cam as she tore through the streets of Taiwan, clearing out the infected.

He expected her to be done within the hour.

After that, she’d been ordered to collect Westwood and return to the US.

There was a pleasant sound as the vid reconnected.

Roles turned his attention back to the Soviet general.

“There appears to be some interference,” the general said.

“Yep,” Roles replied. “Either way, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we don’t have any more Ghosts to offer. We were overrun in Kansas City, and the fighting is threatening to tip in Dallas and Minneapolis. If we lose those two, they’ll control three major transport intersections and cut the country in half.”

The vid buzzed and cracked before clearing up again.

“Say again, Secretary? Your feed is unreliable.”

“I said,” Roles started, but it flashed and rolled again.

Roles made another face and tapped the edge of the screen like he used to do when he was a kid and the screens wouldn’t work.

Didn’t work this time.

“Secretary, your feed is—”

The man’s face froze with static blocks laid over it.

“My feed is shit,” Roles finished for him.

The screen went black and letters popped up.

TRANSMISSION ENDED.

Roles picked a piece of food from his teeth as he waited to see if the general would call back.

A small chunk of a peanut came loose and he flicked it away. The screen remained black.

That wasn’t a good sign for the general, but there was little Roles could do for him, so he rotated his chair again and hit the key to bring up Alice’s view.

There was a buzz and Roles’ assistant’s voice came online. “Sir, you have another call.”

Roles sighed. “Put them through.”

30

WARNING.

Warning.

Warning.

Flashing red and yellow lights tore Moller from cryo sleep.

Her eyes sprung open and she gasped with surprise, but she couldn’t manage so much as a bubble of air. Instead, she sucked in a mouthful of the pink soup she was drowning in.

She was trapped inside the cryo bed.

On instinct alone, she reached up and pushed uselessly against the glass until her wits returned to her and she found the manual release on the interior of the chamber.

She wrapped her fingers around the metal handle and pulled, but it didn’t give.

Making a face, she angled one arm up against the glass and pulled with all her strength.

It snapped loose with a pop and air poured into the bed as the seal broke. The glass lid of the bed popped open and Moller rose from within.

She gagged the moment her head hit the air, spewing cryo out of her mouth and onto the floor.

All around her, the others were waking up and doing the same.

Moller blinked and rubbed at her face, but everything was cloudy. It was only then that she realized her mechanical eye wasn’t plugged in.

Gasping for breath, she yelled, “What—the hell is—going on?” She gagged again and spewed more cryo.

Others answered her calls with questions of their own.

“Where are we?”

“Can’t breathe!”

“Did the systems fail?”

Moller ignored them all and wiped the sludge from her face. “Fuck,” she hissed as she grabbed onto the ledge of the bed and leaned up, but her legs were unsteady and she slipped back in, sloshing out more liquid on the floor.

The others kept complaining and someone was screaming. Moller grabbed the ledge and tried again. This time, she got her leg out and onto the floor. There was a loud squeak as she nearly slipped but braced herself on the bed.

She let go of it and took uneasy steps to a nearby module as she called out, “Where’s the environmental systems specialist?”

No one answered as she wiped her face again and looked at the command screen.

It flashed:

System Error.

“No shit.” She tapped the screen and brought up the details. She read it just as her stomach lurched again.

She bent over and spewed more pink fluid onto the floor.

“Moller!” someone yelled. She glanced back to see that the captain was stumbling toward her, still wet with cryo. “What the hell happened? Did we wake up too soon?”

Moller glanced at the screen again. She tapped a sequence. “No . . .” She looked at the captain. “We’re late.”

“THE CRYO THAWED, that’s why it’s so damn soupy,” the environmental specialist complained. “They sent us a buggy-ass ship. The whole damn thing woke up without actually moderating us out of cryo. We’re lucky we woke up at all.”

Moller listened while she sat in a chair with her mechanical eye in one hand, trying to scrub the cryo out with a brush. Her whole body kept jerking as if she had a bad case of hiccups, but in reality, it was something wrong in her systems that needed checking.

The captain stood at his console, the glow of the computer on his face. “It was the engines. They didn’t work as predicted. They burned twice as much fuel and got us here early. A lot earlier.”

“How early?” Moller asked as she finished scrubbing.

“Less than a week. It’s hard to say. The systems are giving me different reports for some reason. If we weren’t on the plotted course, then we could have hit a radiation field and dicked everything. It’s also why we were all jarred awake. The ship was set to activate on destination, but the cryo tanks were set for duration.”

“The hell does any of that mean?” someone asked.

“It means our timer didn’t pop. We were still in the oven,” the environmental specialist said, his head tilted as he winced and scooped cryo from his ear. “We’re all going to be fucking cryo sick when we arrive.”

“How the hell does it get us here in less than a week?” a woman asked. “That’s not possible.”

A Soviet navigator shook his head and made a face. “Apparently it is. These systems were extra dimensional. They are what got the cronux’s attention on Mars. We’re lucky the engines didn’t cook or blow up from the heat. The ship may be shit now too. Who knows what systems are fried or hanging by a string.”

Moller ground her teeth and held her body tight until the hiccups stopped. She looked at Marat, but he barely caught her eyes before he gagged and threw up more cryo.

She huffed as she tilted her head back and fed the ocular cable into her eye socket to connect.

Someone shook their head. “We could orbit Mars for a week and catch our sea legs.”

“Negative, didn’t you just hear him?” the captain asked. “We don’t know what it did to the systems. They could fail any moment. The mission is our priority. If anything, we should see this as a gift. We’re going to achieve our objectives faster. Who knows what the hell will happen next week. We could lose Houston or LA.”

“LA? That’s a laugh. The president nuked it. I had family there,” someone scoffed.

“All the more reason to get our asses moving then, isn’t it? It’s unlikely we’ll encounter hostiles. The clearing team before said they hadn’t found anything.”

“I told you,” Moller said as she finished stuffing the eye in. “The clearing team only searched a small section before clearing out. They didn’t search all over. We will encounter hostiles.”

“What makes you so sure?” someone asked.

“Because I was there. We locked some in rooms, caught others under debris, trapped some outside the base. It’s why I insisted we have weapons. We will find them,” Moller insisted.

The captain nodded. “You all heard her. Destination time is three hours from now. Pop your meds, take a shit, and get your CAG on. We’re going to land and get this done today. Mission specialist Moller was here before, but she was with a cargo team and old CAG. You’re all certified for Orbital Corps gear and we’re equipped to kick ass. We’ll get in, get out, and do our part for the war. Understood?”

As the team sounded off, Moller steadied onto her legs and felt her back crack. She rolled her neck and it popped. “You all right?” she asked Marat, and he gave her a thumbs-up as he got to his feet.

“Better than you, I think.”

“Probably,” she agreed. “You see our Ghost?”

Marat nodded and pointed.

She leaned past and looked that way. Who the hell knew what cryo poisoning would do to a Ghost?

Anders sat at a window by herself and stared out into the darkness.

Moller grabbed Marat by the arm. “Go move around. Get your muscles warmed up before you get your suit on. It helps work the junk out of your system.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he agreed and moved off.

Moller grabbed a rail bar on the wall to steady her footing and went down toward the Ghost.

She didn’t look up, but she could see her reflection in the glass as she approached.

Anders was a pale, sickly-looking woman even when she didn’t have cryo poisoning.

“You all right?” Moller asked.

“Yes,” Anders replied, her voice a scratch.

Moller leaned down a little closer and looked into the void, but couldn’t see anything.

“All right, we’re going to gear up. I’ll help you get into your CAG. After that, we’re going to deploy.”

“I heard everything,” she answered. “I just want a minute here.”

“Go ahead. Gain your bearings.”

Moller readied to leave, but Anders twisted her head up toward Moller, her neck bending back at an angle that looked painful as she spoke.

“It’s good to feel nothing.”

“BULLSHIT,” the flight engineer said as he thumped his hand on the console. The ship had only barely docked and it flashed warning signs the entire time. “This is reading that we’re still docking.”

“Radiation field must have really cooked us,” the captain said.

The flight crew discussed how to diagnose the systems, but Moller paid them little attention as she unbuckled her seat and moved toward the window.

She got an odd sense of déjà vu. The walls of the docking bay looked the same as they had last time.

And there was still blood.

The captain came up alongside her. “How’s it looking, Moller?”

“That’s Commander Tealson’s blood,” she said and pointed.

“But where are the bodies?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

He huffed and shook his head. “All right, well, it’s your hand on the wheel now. You have the advance team. The flight crew will stay here and make sure we can get this piece of shit back up into the air. Good luck.”

THE FREIGHT LIFT on the ship descended into the bay and the ten-member squad stepped out, leaving the essential flight crew back on the ship.

“Keep to the center,” Moller said to Marat as she walked to the front. “Everyone else, rifles up and lights on.”

Anders was already at the front, leaning down to one knee with a hand flat on the ground.

“You got a read on anything for me?” Moller asked.

Anders lifted her hand and looked at her empty palm.

“I can feel them,” she said as if seeing something no one else could, her voice buzzing over the comms system.

“They close?” Moller asked.

“I don’t know, it’s strange . . .”

Moller leaned up and took a sharp breath. “We had signal interference when we were here, but that was because of the gate. It’s down now.”

“Maybe . . .” Anders rasped, “it’s the cryo poisoning.”

Moller gave her an agreeable nod, but she knew better than anyone that Ghosts didn’t breathe. But what the hell did she know about how their bodies would react?

“Let’s go.” Moller pointed. “Patel on point.”

A soldier in CAG moved up to the front and led them down the canals of Felicity.

It felt more like a tomb now than an aging space station.

All the power was dead, leaving them in darkness. They kept their helmet and rifle lights on to guide their way because the night vision on the helmets was unreliable with so little ambient light.

The blown-out walls had let out the oxygen inside the stations. Ice crunched beneath their boots as the water that had flooded the station was now frozen to every surface. It made the ground uneven and rough, but their boots had a good grip and no one slipped.

Moller felt a twist in her stomach that made her groan, but she bit it back.

Anders walked upright, her hands out to her sides, fingers jittering.

In a jolt, she went down to a knee again and everyone froze in place as they tensed up.

They stood quietly for a moment before a voice came on the comms.

“The hell is she doing? I about shit myself.”

“Just give her a second,” Moller ordered.

“I feel something,” Anders said and pointed a finger. “Listen.”

Moller held her breath, but she couldn’t hear a damn thing. She reached down to her gauntlet and turned up the dial on the sound sensitivity.

Now, she could hear a scrape behind a locked cabin door.

“It’s waking up,” Anders said.

“Well, let’s go shoot it before it does!” someone complained.

“Negative. We locked some in rooms. They can’t get out,” Moller said.

It groaned, and they all heard it.

Thump.

It beat at the door.

Thump.

It was slow and dull.

“It’s cold. It hasn’t moved in years. None of them have,” Anders said.

One of the soldiers twisted around and looked at the ground. “There are others?” he asked.

“Yes, but I can’t . . .” Anders shook her head.

“We’ll go slow and steady. You feel something, you let us know then, all right?” Moller said.

They continued down the twisting, darkened paths until they encountered their first real problem. Part of the ceiling and upper floor had caved in and sealed the path off. They would have to go back and head past an outer-walled hallway.

“Let’s go,” she said as she turned the group around. Marat ambled closer to her.

“Is it close?” he asked in a whisper despite his comms being connected with everyone else’s channel.

“Yeah,” she said. “Just keep with us.”

Marat nodded and they doubled back, taking another turn and sweeping out to the exterior.

The hair on Moller’s neck stood on end, and she wasn’t sure why. She froze in place again and held up a hand as she looked around. All the other soldiers did the same, watching and listening for anything.

Still nothing.

“Anders?” she asked.

“Nothing,” the Ghost responded.

Moller eased up and pointed; the squad lead went forward again. They moved up to the exterior walls and glanced out the windows to see the red surface of Mars and the distant sun.

“We’re close,” Moller told the crew.

They went deeper into the guts of the station and found the gate room, but it was sealed by a door.

Moller stepped past the point man and took a look at it. She leaned up toward the glass porthole of the door and glared inside.

“I don’t know how this door is closed. They were coming through the gate inside before,” she said.

“Maybe system tremor?” Marat said. “The door closed before power was all gone?”

“I guess.” It was hard to see in the room, but it looked like there were holes in the wall. Something might have eaten its way out.

Moller stepped away and motioned toward the door.

“Clear it.”

Two soldiers went ahead and there was a flash of burning light as they used a heat saw to cut through the metal.

They all stood tense and ready until it opened, but still nothing.

The squad waited until there was a loud snap and the door came loose. The head of the saw team turned and gave a thumbs-up. “All clear.”

They moved inside and the point man spoke. “Yeah, this is the place.” There was dark, dry blood everywhere. The gate equipment and modules were there, but they all looked broken.

“Shit.” Moller looked across the systems. “You think any of this is salvageable? It all looks like junk to me.”

Marat came in alongside her and a few of the Soviet soldiers flanked him. They looked it over.

Marat let out with an irritated groan. “Ehh, if it’s only power grid, it should be okay. But maybe some replacement needed.” He gestured toward a man with a tool bag on his back. “We try.”

Moller nodded and looked to the rest. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Lieutenant Forrest is going to stay here with Anders and the advance team to secure the perimeter. If our engineers can get the gate up, it’ll become a hostile zone, so we’ll need interior and exterior defenses. I’m going to double back with the explosives team and get our payload.”

The soldiers all nodded and sounded off in affirmation.

“Anders will let you know if anything gets close, but everyone keep your eyes up,” Moller said as she went toward a hole in the room and looked out.

“They’re starting to wake up.”

31

ELI’S FINGERS were cold and numb as he fussed in his seat. Nervous tension rode up his back as he sat in the plastic office chair.

“It’s okay, sweetie, do you want to go lie down?” Cora asked.

He looked up to her, his eyes wet.

“No.”

There was a knock at the door before it opened.

Roles stepped inside, a briefcase in his hand.

“Hey, kid, how you doing?” Roles grinned at both of them. “I’m not used to you calling the meetings. I appreciate you coming over here, though. Sorry this room was the best I could do in this wing.”

“I’m okay,” Eli said and squeezed his hands together underneath the table.

Roles gave a look to both him and Cora as he dragged out a chair and took a seat.

“I know this room is a bit boring, but how do you like yours down here? I’m told it’s one of the best we have,” Roles said.

“It’s okay,” Eli replied.

“Well, what can I do for you?” he asked as he took a seat.

Eli stared down at the table. It was hard to know what to say sometimes.

“Sweetie?” Cora asked. “You said you wanted to talk to Mr. Roles. What’d you want to say to him?”

Eli felt pressure choke up in his throat. He shook his head.

“Eli?” Cora asked, but he still couldn’t find the right words.

“Maybe he was hoping to leverage another soda out of me,” Roles said with a grin. “You probably don’t let him drink them too often, do you?”

Cora smiled politely and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Secretary, I know you’re busy. He was so adamant before, I thought it might be important.”

Roles waved a hand. “Don’t mention it. Little Eli here is one of the few people I’ll clear my agenda for. I’ve got a few minutes. Maybe you wanted to know about your mom? She’s on her way back now, kid. She just had to lend a hand to some friends. Her and Westwood will be here soon.”

Eli looked up finally, a tear rolled down his face. “He told me he’s coming.”

“Oh yeah?” Roles frowned “You talked with Westwood?”

Eli shook his head.

Roles placed his elbow on the table and leaned forward, his face growing serious. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“I didn’t tell him anything,” Eli said in a near panic. “I knew they were looking for me, but I never said where we were.”

“Kid, slow down,” Roles said, patting his back.

“There was a man that lives here too. He told him where we are. He told him how to find us, and now he’s coming.”

“Who is coming?” Roles asked.

“The Archon,” he whispered. “He told me he found me and he’s coming. He said he’s going to use me to get my mom.”

Roles’ eyes widened with surprise.

Eli’s face skewed up as he started to bawl.

“Am I in trouble?”

I FOUND THE BOY.

Those words woke the Archon from his slumber.

Each night, he had dug deeper toward the heart of the Earth as instinct called him.

But he was not ready for sleep.

He was not ready to kill the world.

I want the woman.

It was not a feeling but a command.

Find her son.

The Janissary obeyed.

When the Janissary spoke, the Archon’s eyes snapped open and he jerked and moved, snapping loose from the thick, black roots that had grown from his body.

One root had sprouted from his mouth, and he had to crack the end with his hand and drag the rest from his stomach.

The roots writhed like eels left in the sun as they came away. He left them in the dirt as he returned to the surface.

Where?

The Archon spoke with a voice that shook the dark world.

In the hive mind, the Janissary came near, his hands wrapped together. When they opened, there was a small candle flame.

It was the boy.

He was hiding.

But they’d found him.

Now, the Archon was in the air, his heavy wings beating with force that threw him forward through the night sky.

In the hive mind, he could still see the soft candle flame, he could feel it trying to hide even now.

But once seen, it was impossible to escape the eyes of a god.

He looked toward the ground and saw a strip of land covered in lights, and even from here, he spied the soldiers.

He tightened his wings, circled around once, and saw a helicopter in the air.

There.

The Archon’s wings went still and he sped to the ground.

He impacted near a group of soldiers and the force threw them into the air.

The Archon had landed directly on a man and left a bloody smear as he crawled from the hole on the surface.

A cloud of dirt erupted into the air, and as he walked through, the base buzzed like an angry beehive.

The Archon turned as spotlights focused on him and soldiers fired. Their bullets slammed against his body with little impact.

The helicopter came close and angled itself as a massive spinning gun’s rounds peppered the ground.

The shots found him and stung his side, their force powerful enough to knock him off his feet. The Archon threw his head back and roared as he leaped into the air, smashing into the helicopter. It spun wildly and crashed into the dirt, the blades chopping the ground and snapping. The Archon held it the entire time; his fingers sank into the frame.

He came out from the broken husk, his fingers wrapped around the gunner’s neck.

More squads formed up on him and fired.

The Archon hurled the gunner’s dead body at a squad and it slammed into them, knocking them off their feet.

He bent low, ready to leap again, but there was an itch in his brain.

It made him stiffen, even as other rounds peppered his hide.

He twisted around and saw a sickly-looking man, his teeth ground and tight, with his hand out toward the Archon.

“Heretic,” the Archon growled and jumped down from the helicopter.

The heretic kept his hand up as his face shook and blood poured from his nose. But as the Archon stormed forward, the heretic’s eyes rolled up into his head and he fell to his knees.

The Archon sank his claw into the man’s shoulder, his nails digging deep, and with a mighty twist, hurled the man off into the distance.

More men were coming, but there weren’t enough.

There would never be enough.

WARNING.

Warning.

There has been a breach.

A woman’s voice repeated the alarm.

“Let’s go,” Roles barked at Cora as he wrapped one arm around Eli, squeezing the boy to his chest.

Together, they raced down the hallways as the alarm system blared.

“I’m so sorry!” Eli wailed.

Roles ignored him as he took a bend and a security officer came up.

“Get everyone to the front,” Roles ordered and went past.

“Where are we going?” Cora asked as she huffed.

“To the Ghost wing,” Roles said as they rushed up to a massive locked door. An officer on the inside looked through the glass at them. Roles pulled one hand free to slam against the glass. “Let us in!”

“But we left our security team back there,” Cora said, looking back.

“There’s not a damn thing they can do for you,” Roles replied as the door slid open.

They stepped into a long hallway that had another door at the end. Lights flashed overhead.

“I can’t see anything,” Eli cried, his eyes rolled up into his head.

Roles pulled him close again and patted his back.

“What’s going on?” the officer asked.

“We’re under attack. Seal that door.” Roles turned from him and hurried away.

The second door opened automatically and he stepped inside a darker room. They kept the lights soft here for the newly converted Ghosts. They tried to keep all the stimuli to a minimum.

But they were about to be thrown into the deep end.

Staffers stood around and talked about the alarm, but Roles ignored them as he turned left and entered a room.

He hustled to a couch and set Eli on it.

Eli’s head squirmed back and forth, his mouth gasping like a fish tossed on land.

“Eli,” Roles said and squeezed his hand. “Listen to me, son.”

Eli blinked twice and focused his eyes at Roles, but his mouth was still gasping.

“Kid, listen to me. You need to stay here and don’t move. Be brave, okay? Be brave for your grandmother, she needs you.” Roles flashed a look back at Cora and she smiled and nodded as tears rolled down her face.

Eli’s movements slowed as he took shallow breaths and nodded.

He stepped out of the room and pulled the door shut behind him.

“Hey, Wright,” Roles said and pointed at a man. “Call down to the teams and tell them to send whatever Ghosts they have. Now.”

JOHN WINTERS LEANED FORWARD and rested his elbow on his desk.

“They’re already on Mars? What the hell happened?”

The Orbital Corps senior advisor on the other end shook her head. “It appears the systems didn’t cooperate as expected and they got there far faster than we predicted. Unfortunately, it seems they may have traveled through some radiation fields that could have fried their systems and networking signals. We’ve only been able to receive a handful of messages from them.”

“What’s their mission status?”

“They’re on world now and preparing to reactivate the gate. It’s possible they could be finished in the next few hours.”

“All right, keep me—” A loud sound blasted somewhere behind John. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Jesus, what was that?”

A fireball erupted on the ground.

“Mr. President, are you all right?” the woman asked.

John leaned up from his seat, but the cerbo-lift on his leg made it difficult to move.

“I’m fine,” he said, still glancing back. “Keep me updated.”

Before John could sign out, the door burst open and his security team moved in.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked.

The team rushed at him and one of the senior members worked an arm underneath his to help lift him to his feet.

“There’s been a breach, sir. We need to move you to a secure room.”

“Where are Cora and Eli?”

“They’re safe, sir. We’ve confirmed their location in the bunker.”

They hurried him from the room. He shot one look behind him toward the window.

The security officer pushed the door open and led him through.

“Don’t worry, sir, right now, they’re more secure than you.”

THE ARCHON GRIPPED a man by the top of the head. He squeezed his fingers into the metal and the man fought and kicked as the Archon dragged him alongside him like a child with a doll.

It was only when the man’s body went slack that the Archon dropped him to the floor and entered the freight elevator. Another man backpedaled while firing his service pistol. The Archon barely noticed until a round hit him in the face.

He showed his teeth and bent his leg, and his wing swung out.

It caught the man near the chin and tore his head off, sending it to bounce off the wall and roll across the floor.

Dead bodies and burning metal trailed the Archon as he walked toward the elevator command module.

Chemicals popped and sizzled inside the Archon’s brain, bringing stolen memories to his consciousness, but these controls looked different than the others he had inside his mind’s eye.

Curiously, he tapped a pointed finger against a button, but it didn’t move, though the exterior door went down. He shifted in place to look back.

Focusing again on the module, he tapped another key and it spoke with words too quick for him to fully understand.

The sound irritated him and he tapped another key even as he heard noise beyond the door, men trying to find their way in.

He ignored them and tapped another.

The voice continued speaking, yet still did not move.

And though the stolen memories had served him well on many occasions, here, they failed him, and his patience was not unending. His frustration boiled to the surface, and as was usual for the Archon, it became rage.

Screaming in fury, he smashed his hand through the console, sending up a wave of sparks.

He moved to the center of the elevator and smashed a clawed hand down into the floor. The metal screeched as it tore and he delivered another powerful blow.

With his anger building, he slashed it again until the hole was big enough to get his fingers in.

With the dark shaft now open, the Archon climbed inside.

ELI SAT on the sofa as Cora paced around in front of him.

He felt cold again, his fingertips like ice cubes.

It was hard to hear too; everything sounded like it was underwater.

There was just too much screaming in his head.

In a way, he could see beyond the room. He saw the Archon and the Ghosts who went up to meet him.

In the dark world of the hive mind, he could see their lights go out one by one.

And though it was muffled, he could hear weapons firing in the distance.

There was screaming too, in both worlds.

But he tried to be brave.

His mother was brave.

So was his father.

And as he rubbed his hands together, he wondered if they ever got scared.

He was.

With every passing second, he could feel the weight of the Archon growing stronger and pressing on him.

The sounds grew louder still and now he knew they were in the other room.

Cora came down to him and wrapped her arms around him, crying as she squeezed.

Eli squeezed her back, but his eyes stayed focused on the door.

It yanked open and Roles stepped inside. In the room behind him, Eli saw the flash of light and heard screams from gunfire.

Roles slammed the door shut and crouched before Eli, staring him in the eyes.

And in that moment, through all the panic, Roles’ voice was steady and cut through the panic.

“Let me talk with him,” he said, patting Cora on the back and she pulled away, her face red with tears. “Listen, son,” Roles started, his eyes as focused as his voice. “In a minute, he’s going to come in here.”

Even though he knew it was true, Eli gasped. But Roles shook his head. “Be brave,” he reminded him.

Eli nodded through the tears.

“He’s going to come in here and he’s going to take you. He doesn’t want you, he wants your mother.” Roles grabbed his hand and squeezed. “And I’m sorry, Eli. I’ve asked you for so much, but I need a little more. You told me you could talk with your mother. Do it again. Tell her where you are and she’ll come get you. She’s not afraid of monsters, Eli. She kills them. Understand?”

“Yes.” Eli sobbed.

Roles patted him on the shoulder and stood. Cora came down and wrapped her arm around him again.

Eli closed his eyes and waited.

32

MOLLER STOOD by as the team loaded the bomb onto a cerbo-lift with its mechanical, mule-like legs folded beneath it. Thick, metal locks snapped onto the bomb’s port base and kept it checked into position.

“Oh, it’s good,” a Soviet soldier said as he puffed on a cigarette. He reached out and slapped the side of the bomb, making a loud thump.

The environmental systems specialist winced hard and made a face. “Buddy, I’d feel a lot better if you didn’t slap the bomb while I’m in the room with it.”

“What?” the Soviet said with honest surprise as he took his cig out. “It’s no problem, really. You take hammer and give spank-spank, no problem. Here, you try.” He reached for a tool.

“Yeah, no thanks. I’ll just take your word for it,” the other man said with a shake of his hand.

Something twisted in Moller’s gut, but she did her best not to show it.

“How long until we’re ready to move out?” she asked.

The Soviet plugged his cig back into his mouth and took a puff as he watched a digital screen attached to the bomb. “Yeah, it’s good in five minute. We need chemicals to mix and to arm. Then all we need is a good push and it bang.”

“A good push?” the environmental specialist asked. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Yes, I’m fucking kidding you.” The Soviet made a face and looked at Moller. “He don’t like jokes?”

“I guess not.” Moller shrugged. “I’m getting a drink.”

She walked down the hallway and glanced over to make sure she’d gotten some distance before she squeezed her side. It didn’t do shit because of the armor, but she bent and twisted anyway.

It was her stomach. It was tying knots again, but it felt different this time.

She dug a med stick out of her hip pouch and cracked it open.

She didn’t bother mixing it with water; she turned it upright and sucked it all down.

It tasted like radiator fluid.

She hissed and clenched her eyes as she swallowed down the taste.

“Looks like hell,” the captain said.

She shot a glance at him. She hadn’t heard him approach. “Yeah, you probably saw it in the report. I’m half microwave.”

“Put me down as a quarter, then. My kidney and liver are synthetics. They’re giving me some fits too, but you seem to be getting the worst of it. My guess is that it was that soupy cryo. We’d practically drowned in it.” He cracked open a water pouch and handed it over.

Moller gave him an appreciative nod as she took it and sucked it down too. It helped with the taste.

The captain pointed back toward the bomb. “Vasiliev back there? I actually interviewed him. He speaks perfect English. He plays up that dumb accent to screw with us.”

Moller chuckled and shook her head. “Leave it to a Russian to joke about killing us all.”

“Is it looking all right out there?”

“So far.” She wiped water from her lips. “The advance team is setting up the power source now. If things go well, we’ll be able to get there and stuff this bomb in, and then . . .”

“Then we cross our fingers and see what happens.”

Moller nodded.

“Ya,” the Soviet soldier called from his room. “It’s ready.”

“Let me take that.” The captain took Moller’s trash. “You just get this done and get back here as fast as you can. We might end up being here for a while, but I’d still rather have everyone on board.”

“Agreed,” Moller said and went back into the room.

The Soviet slapped the bomb and gave her a thumbs-up. “It’s good.”

“How do we blow this thing?” the environmental specialist asked.

The Soviet took his cig out and pursed his lips. He grinned. “Remote.”

“Remote? How’s that going to work when it’s in another dimension?”

“Easy. The moment connection cuts,” he said and swiped a hand through the air. “Bang.”

“It’s tethered,” Moller said. “When the connection breaks, it engages.”

“After you pull the manual connection,” the Soviet clarified and tapped a control switch that was connected to it with a long cable.

“We’ve got it, just get your gear on.” Moller retrieved her helmet from off a bench.

The Soviet stuffed his cig into the wall and dropped it onto the floor to crush with his heel. He grabbed his helmet and offered one last wide grin before he put it on.

Moller placed hers too and it sank and connected.

“Let’s move,” she said.

The Soviet soldier worked the controls on the cerbo-lift, making it rise and the wheels extend. Three other soldiers flanked it as they got to the ship elevator.

“Don’t drag ass and I’ll keep the ship warm for you,” the environmental specialist said with a wave.

The Soviet gave him a salute as Moller hit the lift button. It groaned as it took them down and stopped on the bay floor.

“Same route as before, let’s move,” Moller said and stepped off.

The Soviet pressed a key and the cerbo-lift groaned and rolled off.

MARAT’S FINGERS itched for a cig. He would have fit one into his suit if he thought it was possible, but it wasn’t, so all he was left with was the craving.

Oh, and he had to pee.

He had to piss so bad.

“Piss in your suit,” one of the Europeans told him. “It’s fitted for waste disposal.”

Marat half considered it; he’d heard of some of the American suits doing that, but it sounded exactly like something you’d tell someone you wanted to dick with.

That, and he was pretty sure he would have had to tuck his cock into something and he certainly didn’t do that.

He leaned down and reached back behind one of the modules, which put more pressure on his bladder, but it couldn’t be helped. They had some bullshit plastic casing that’d melted from the heat ports, and it seemed to be affecting the wiring.

He leaned back from the corner and pointed at one of the engineers in CAG. “You, come move this. I need to get in back.”

“You trying to get past the heat ports?” the engineer asked as he reached down to the module. With the added strength of the armor, he pulled it out.

“Yes. Bullshit American designs used sensitive plastics,” Marat said with a huff as he stripped off the casing and tossed it aside. It clattered to the ground and Marat could finally see the wires. It wasn’t the same as the Soviet design, but it had some similarities.

“They might not play the same tune, but they share the rhythm.”

One of his college professors had said that. He was right, but Marat doubted that the old Science of Mechanical Design professor was thinking of interdimensional travel.

Still, there was a good reason there were similarities—when they made contact, the creatures fed them both the designs.

Marat had to pause and take a breath.

He felt some panic rising in his chest.

“You all right, mate? Not going for that piss now, are you?” one of the engineers asked. “Wouldn’t recommend it, laying on your hip like that.”

Marat grunted and waved the man off.

He wasn’t pissing, he was remembering what it was like the first time the gate powered up.

They hadn’t turned it on.

The creatures had and immediately clawed through, killing everything in their paths.

But this crew had a rundown. They knew what to expect.

And Marat, well, he hoped it’d be different this time.

Maybe, just maybe . . .

“Catch them by surprise,” Marat said, finishing the thought out loud.

“Mate, I’m telling you, you lay on your hip like that and you’re going to soak yourself up to your chin.”

THUMP, thump.

The sounds of men at work found its way down into the hollow bones of Felicity.

A pale, white ear twitched and a creature lifted its head, its teeth already beginning to jitter.

It had been so long since the creature had moved, and its cold, stiff body had long gone dormant.

But its ears stayed upright, and for years, all it did was wait and listen . . .

. . . for a moment just like this.

Blood surged as it stirred once again. Its long limbs had been wrapped together for years, but now, they unfolded with the cartilage and muscle snapping and cracking as it did.

It was not alone.

The creature barked and the sounds echoed causing the rest of the chamber to stir.

And now, all at once, long-dormant hunger began to awaken.

MARAT LEANED close and hovered his finger above a button on a console. He pecked a key and it all came alive.

One of the engineers clapped. “Brought the dead back to life.”

“Yes,” Marat agreed, smirking as he looked at the screen. Lines of code strung across it and he watched carefully. “No one touch. We don’t want gate to . . .” He trailed off as he saw Anders lean over and touch the ground.

Lieutenant Forrest took a step in her direction.

“Anders?” he asked. “You feel something?”

The Ghost twisted her head back toward them, her voice a scratch.

“They’re coming.”

“FUCKING—” Moller groaned as she rammed her shoulder into the back of the cerbo-lift. The wheels spun on the ice. Normally, she’d be very opposed to thumping into a bomb, but she was losing patience. “Get on the other end and pull.”

Two soldiers went to the front with a length of chain connected to the cerbo-lift.

The path sloped and she hadn’t really noticed the first time through, but it made ice slicker here and the wheels on the lift wouldn’t catch.

The fat metal wheels spun.

“Smash your heel into the ground and help make some tread,” Moller ordered.

“Moller,” Forrest’s voice buzzed through comms. “The Ghost is bugging out, she says hostels are inbound, but we haven’t seen shit yet.”

“Dammit,” Moller snapped. “All right, just hold it down. We’ll be there soon.” She pressed a switch on her gauntlet and reconnected to the local comms. “Let’s get it again.”

She moved behind it with another soldier and shoved hard while the two others pulled the chains. She groaned as it inched up the slope.

“OH GOD,” Anders moaned. “I don’t know why but it hurts.”

Marat watched and kept his distance.

Anders had her fingers like claws aimed at the ground; her head rolled back on her neck.

“Maybe it’s the gate,” she rasped.

“The gate isn’t on,” Forrest said, his voice rising with panic. He snapped his fingers and pointed at Marat. “You get things programmed. Don’t worry about her, we got her.”

Marat nodded again. He had already given instructions to the other engineers and they were working on their modules, getting things warmed up.

“It’s . . . it’s too much,” Anders said and reached one hand up to her helmet. She hit the clasp and the helmet popped up releasing air.

“The fuck are you doing!” someone yelled.

Marat watched in horror as Anders wrenched off her helmet and dropped it to the ground.

“Don’t do that. Someone put it back!” Marat yelled, but he turned back and typed in commands on the module. Lines of code flitted across the screen as it ran diagnostics.

Marat glanced back and saw her eyes rolled up in her head and her fingers down as if to dig into the ground. She moaned as her skin visibly paled and her head shook.

“She’s bugging out,” someone yelled.

“The fucking Ghost went insane!” said another.

Something hit hard against a wall near Marat. He looked and saw a set of green eyes through the grating. They were speckled white and looked between them all.

“Shit,” Marat hissed and pointed.

Forrest came close and went down to a knee. He aimed the rifle and fired a short burst.

The rounds peppered the creature in the head, making it screech.

On the other side of the room, a panel came loose and it clattered to the ground. A long, bony arm reached through and snatched one of the engineers, its fingers wrapping around his arm. It yanked him close and he flew from his feet.

“Here!” another soldier shouted as he ran closer and fired his weapon, flashes of light popping in the room.

Anders went cold and stiff in the room. She nearly froze in place as her skin went ice-blue. But like a moving statue, she cracked her head to the side and her eyes rolled around.

Marat rushed away from the console and grabbed Anders’ helmet. He fumbled with it, but managed to set it on her head.

It sank and connected, and her moan filled the already full comms system.

Marat stepped back from her, but jerked as another panel came loose. He looked to the ceiling to see a creature reaching for him, but he dropped to his ass.

Sounds of gunfire ripped off down the hallway and he looked in that direction.

“We’re here, we’re here!” Moller screamed through comms. “Juice the gate!”

Marat climbed to his feet as the creature reached for him again, but he ducked in time. He got to the console and hit a few commands.

The large gate burst open with green light. It oozed and swam like a pool of toxic water somehow held upright.

Something howled from beyond like a jackal’s laugh.

Black fingers reached from the gate and wrapped around the edge of the frame. A skeletal, eyeless beast pulled inside, its head like a sunken pumpkin. Marat watched in horror as it heaved inside and reached for Anders.

The Ghost thrust one hand at it even as her other worked at the clasp on her helmet.

“Don’t!” Marat yelled.

A soldier came in through the entrance of the room, pulling on a chain.

“We’re here!” he yelled. “We’re—”

A hand grabbed him from below and yanked him off his feet. He fell flat and scraped his fingers across the floor as he was dragged into a hole in the wall.

Marat rushed across the room and reached for the man’s hand, but came up short as the man disappeared into it. Another horrible face filled the void of the hole and its arm came out for Marat. He gasped and scrambled backward.

Moller stomped next to him and fired her rifle into the hole. The creature screeched and tore off.

“Get up,” she yelled and helped Marat onto his feet.

Another thump and Marat looked to see Anders had taken her helmet off again; now, it rolled around on the floor.

Her skin had blistered blue and her eyes rolled up into her head.

Moller stepped forward and fired into the gate. The creature reaching from it snarled and gasped as it retreated. “Come on, go!” Moller shouted as she looked back and gestured toward the lift.

The Soviet soldier came up alongside it, pressing the control pad and making it roll. “Clear the way!” he yelled.

Marat rushed forward and grabbed Anders, pulling her aside.

The cerbo-lift rolled forward and two soldiers shoved it from behind. Moller stepped out of the way, but fired into the gate again.

Anders went limp in Marat’s hands. He let her loose and turned to grab the helmet.

“You wear the fucking—” He froze as he saw the creature inside the gate reach through again and grab Anders by the head.

Marat dropped the helmet and made a desperate attempt to hold her, but the creature’s grasp locked around her head, and her neck bent awkwardly before it snapped with a loud crack that made Marat gasp.

He let go and it dragged her body inside, the whole creature disappearing through the gate.

“Fuck!” someone yelled.

Marat sat on his knees in wide-eyed panic as he watched the cerbo-lift roll into the gate. The large creature came through again, this time climbing over the lift and stopping its movement.

Something boiled up inside Marat and he screamed in a rage as he swung the helmet forward. It smacked the creature in the face, causing it to jerk and look at him.

Forrest grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him hard. Marat stumbled back as Forrest fired into the creature’s face again, making it retreat.

“Go, go!” Forrest shouted as he turned back and waved.

The cerbo-lift continued to roll forward and Marat watched it slide into the green energy field. The Soviet soldier guiding it grabbed the control switch and yanked it free.

“Engaged!” he yelled as he brought his rifle up.

The lift tipped forward like it had hit a ledge and it slowly shifted and fell in.

“Cut the gate!” Moller yelled.

Marat got to his feet and went to the module. He punched in commands and hit enter.

All at once, the gate shifted off and died.

“Let’s go,” Moller shouted to Marat and gestured.

Marat got to his feet. He gave one look back at the room as he saw Moller pull out a grenade. She threw it at the gate and it rolled around on the floor.

Someone shouted and they stepped out of the room. A creature crawled from a hole in the ground, but a soldier fired into its face as they raced by.

The grenade blew up behind them, and Marat kept his eyes forward as they raced.

“Go, go, go!” Forrest yelled.

33

MILES BRUSHED a hand through his hair as he rested on the bolted plastic seat of the jet.

Somehow, it didn’t feel as cold as it had on the ride over.

Endo had agreed to stay back and support the American ambassador in Taiwan, which meant that the whole back end of the jet only needed room for two.

Miles and Alice.

She was still in CAG when she sat next to him as they were taking off, but she’d been staring out the window. God knew what she was thinking about, because Miles certainly didn’t.

On one occasion, as they started to cross the Pacific, he actually leaned over and readied to say something.

But she kept staring out the window.

Whatever it was wilted in his throat and he leaned back in his seat.

Maybe the plastic was just as cold as the first trip.

He yawned and stretched his legs out, and while no one had ever complained about too much legroom on an airplane, Miles could always find a good reason to bitch and moan. The problem was that with all that legroom, when he tried to lounge out, he ended up sliding off the damn seat. It was as if freezing his balls to it was some kind of safety measure to keep him in place.

Of course, he could wear the seat belt, but who wanted that bullshit squeezing their stomach the entire flight?

It all made it difficult to sleep.

But he had to imagine that even if they’d laid out a bed complete with a pillow and a set of satin sheets, he’d still find it difficult to sleep.

It was because the desire to say something, anything, to Alice kept rolling up his throat.

But as long as she was staring out that window, he figured he’d keep his mouth shut.

She had been the reason he wasn’t holed up in some closet in Taiwan, after all. He supposed she deserved a little peace and quiet.

He yawned again and tried to give sleep another go, futile as the attempt may be.

But his stomach growled.

He hadn’t eaten anything. He’d resisted when they’d offered it to him.

It felt strange to eat since Alice didn’t.

“Why don’t you eat something?” she asked him, still looking out the window.

The sound of her voice made him perk up.

“Nah, I don’t need anything. I’m fine, really.”

His stomach growled again in disagreement.

“Yeah?” she teased and turned away from the window.

Miles chuckled. “Guess I could use something to chew on.”

Alice reached into a pouch on her belt and opened it. “Here, you can have this. I don’t need it.” She pulled out a protein bar and offered it over.

“Ah yeah? Thanks.” He took it and tore it open. She watched him for a moment as he held the protein bar. It made him hesitate to take a bite. “That, uhh, felt a little hairy back there, didn’t it?”

“Did it?” she asked.

“I guess it feels a little different when you’re not the one cowering in a closet.” Miles grinned at her and finally took a bite.

“Yeah, but I’ve been there. I know the feeling. I’ve been on both sides of things.”

Miles chewed and swallowed. “How’s that feel? Not the cowering, I know that well enough, but to be on the other side of things?”

Alice gave him a look. “You really want to know?”

“I asked, right?” He shrugged and took another bite.

“It’s two worlds in your mind all at once. One just as real as the other. It makes . . .” She took a deep breath. “It makes it hard to think sometimes, because it’s not always you alone. There are others. It’s like they’re always knocking and trying to open the door.”

“Yeah?” Miles made a face. “That sounds god-awful.”

“It is.” She looked away. “But I wouldn’t be able to do what I can do now without it.”

“Still a shit kind of a thing to carry, I’d imagine. You talk much with those other lads back there? The Dragons?”

“You know, I did. I haven’t met many others like me, but I guess I should. Who else could understand them better than me?”

“No one,” Miles agreed and finished up the bar.

“I . . .” Alice mumbled as she turned her face from Miles. “I . . .”

Her eyes widened in a look of fear.

It made a sense of panic rise in Miles’ chest. “You all right?” he asked.

Her mouth opened wider than he imagined it could and she gave a low moan that made his skin prickle.

“Jesus, Alice, what is it?” He reached toward her arm.

Alice jerked away and rose to her feet. She squeezed her hands to her head hard enough that Miles was afraid she’d hurt herself.

“What is it?” Miles panicked as he came to his feet too.

She gasped and dropped to her knees as if someone had cut her strings.

Miles went down and grabbed her shoulders. “What’s happening?”

“Oh my God,” Alice said, her eyes wide. “He took Eli.”

ALICE SAT ALONE with a small vid screen that buzzed and popped with static. It seemed that even the air base here in Pennsylvania had shit for reception.

She’d found a quiet corner for the call with her father, but the man on the other end hardly looked like him anymore. His eyes dark and heavy, his shoulders hanging loose.

But his hands were folded on the desk and his back was straight.

He was worn down like everyone else, but he was still the man who’d raised her.

“I’m so sorry, Alice.” The vid hissed and cracked. “I’m so sorry. I-I thought they were safe. I wasn’t with him. I wasn’t with him.”

Alice wanted to say something.

But she couldn’t.

Eli was gone, but she already knew it.

The Archon had spoken to her.

I have your son.

He’d said it only once, but the memory echoed in her mind and hit like a hammer each time, rattling her bones.

I have your son.

“I’m so sorry,” her father said again.

Alice swallowed before she could speak.

“Cora?” she asked.

The vid cracked and sizzled as John shook his head. “No.”

Alice opened her mouth to speak, but the screen froze.

Sharp black, white, and gray lines stretched across it.

Seconds passed before it snapped back into place.

John’s elbow was on the desk now and he was half turned away

“Dad?” she asked.

He looked at her, his eyes red.

“I should have been there,” he repeated.

“Dad, whatever happened, it happened. We have to keep fighting.”

John looked into the screen at her face. He remained still for a moment, but nodded. “You’re right.” He took a deep breath. “Cora and Roles were with Eli when the Archon came. Last I heard, Roles wasn’t dead, but he might not survive the night. Director Kings was killed along with several of the Ghosts on-site and most of the psychologist team. That means . . . That means they need us now more than ever, Alice. But Eli—”

“Dad,” Alice said, and the sharpness in her tone made him stop.

John stared at the screen. “What?”

“Eli’s not dead.”

There was hesitation in his voice. “How do you know?”

“The Archon told me. He wants me to come and get him.”

“If you know where he’s at, then we’ll get a team and go.”

“No. It’s me, Dad. If we send in the others, he’ll kill Eli. I have to go by myself.”

“Alice, he nearly killed you before. How could you go see him alone?”

“You have to trust me.”

John leaned back in his chair and looked away from the screen as he tried to weigh things he didn’t understand.

“And Dad?”

He looked back again.

“I’m going to need a car.”

THE GRAVEL CRUNCHED beneath her CAG boot as Alice stepped into the parking lot. Her helmet hung from a connector on her belt and her rifle was slung over her shoulder. She hit the beeper on a wireless key.

A white self-driving sedan chirped. Someone had found the keys on base, and no one knew whose it was. Likely they were dead, or if they weren’t, they’d be very surprised when they came back later to find the car was gone.

She headed toward it.

“Going somewhere?” she heard over her shoulder.

Alice turned to see Miles.

“Yes.”

“Where to?” He took a step closer, his travel bag slung over his shoulder.

“Go back, Miles.”

He took another step forward. “You think I packed my bag so that I could just turn around once you told me to fuck off?”

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you’re not going with me.” She turned away from him and went to the car.

“Let’s see about that. I heard the vid. You’re heading after Eli. I’m going too.”

“No, you’re not. You’ll die.”

“You think so? Suppose I’m willing to take that risk, because believe it or not, I’m a bit fond of the little man.”

“What good is it going to do anyone if you die?”

“Could say the same about you, couldn’t I? The Archon has him, doesn’t he? Well, I don’t give a shit. I’m not going to sit here on my arse. I’m going too.” He rounded the corner to the car. “You want to stop me, you’re going to have to shoot me.”

“Shoot you? I could snap your ankle and hurl you back that way.”

“That, yeah, well, that’d work too, but I’m banking on the fact that you won’t. Because you don’t want to do this alone, and I don’t want you to do it alone. So quit talking about beating my ass and get in the car and tell me where the hell we’re going.”

MILES LEANED up toward the window of the car as it slowed through the suburban neighborhood.

It eased around a long-abandoned car that was littered with leaves and dirt.

It was as dead as everything else on this stretch of road.

Miles saw a demon on the rooftops, running and jumping from house to house to keep pace with them.

“I know this is your dad’s place, but I don’t think I like the neighborhood.”

A tree shook as something moved inside it. Miles couldn’t see what exactly, but he did see its arms as it climbed through a bald patch of the leaves.

“They’re all waiting, aren’t they?” Miles asked.

“Yes. He invited me. They won’t attack. But stay close.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” Miles said as the car rolled to a stop in front of a nice-looking two-story house.

“You have arrived at your destination,” the vehicle said.

Alice left her helmet on the seat as she popped open the door and stepped outside, one hand squeezed into a fist at her side.

She kept her eyes forward, but the hair on Miles’ neck stood as he looked either way to see more things gathering above them, their glassy little eyes shining in the dark.

He kept pace with Alice as she stepped onto the porch and pushed the door open.

It groaned as it swung on its hinges.

She stopped in place. Miles followed her inside and felt his blood turn cold when he saw the living room.

The Archon was there, his massive black chest the size of a dining table. His leather wings folded in behind him, and at one side was Eli, whose eyes were red and his mouth quivering.

But on the other side was a dead man on his knees, his flesh pale and his head tilted back. The Archon had a grip on his skull, and from the best Miles could see, it looked like black roots had grown from the Archon’s palm into the man.

“You came,” the man rasped, his eyes rolled back into his head.

But the Archon’s eyes were wide and full, and focused on Alice.

“You called,” Alice responded.

The Archon growled, or maybe it was a deep and unpleasant laugh. Either way, it made Miles feel cold.

“You promised you’d release my son if I did,” she said.

“I did,” the dead man croaked, but Miles wasn’t sure if it was a question or an agreement.

“Do it,” Alice insisted.

“Go,” the dead man said.

The Archon nudged Eli and he stumbled forward, crying.

“Miles,” she said without taking her eyes from the Archon. “Take Eli and leave.”

Miles held his hand out and Eli raced over to him.

“But mom,” Eli started.

“Eli, I’m sorry, but go.” Alice flashed a look at him.

“Come on, kid. This isn’t for us.” Miles scooped Eli up. He looked once more to Alice, but she was already staring at the Archon again.

Eli cried in Miles’ arms as he turned and hurried from the living room. Nervous tension climbed up his back as he stepped onto the porch. He dared one step forward to look out from the overhang to the roofs.

The creatures were still there.

Still waiting.

Miles took another step down onto the concrete walkway and hurried to the car.

He opened the door and set Eli inside.

“I don’t want to leave Mom,” Eli cried.

“I don’t want to either, mate, but your mom understands,” Miles said and leaned in to hit a destination. He tapped a few keys and hit enter.

The doors locked and the car started onto the road again.

“WE’RE ALONE NOW, what do you want?” Alice asked

The black roots from the Archon’s arms slithered tighter into the dead man. It made him groan as he spoke. “Do you love me?” The words were slow and uneven.

“No,” Alice answered. “I don’t love you.”

The Archon’s head tipped and he growled. The sound was so deep Alice could feel it in her bones. It made her shiver.

“You don’t love anything. You’re insane. I’ll never love you.”

“You will come to me,” the dead man said. “Or I will find your son again and I will tear him to pieces.”

“I’ll come to you, but not in this world.”

The Archon watched carefully.

Alice lowered to her knees and closed her eyes.

“I’ll come to see you in yours.”

The Archon barked laughter and the dead man spoke.

“Come then, Alice of Man, come and bow before a god.”

THE ARCHON’S mind was a never-ending storm. Winds hit with a force that could knock one from their feet.

The ground was thick and sucked at all that came, making it hard to move.

Alice stepped into it, even as the winds threatened to throw her to the ground.

It all dragged and pulled toward the center, a void that, once entered, was nearly impossible to escape.

Alice had been in the void before.

She’d seen how dark it could become.

The Archon was there, somehow bigger and more powerful than in the flesh. A crown of bone topped his head, jutting directly from his skull.

Alice held up a hand and flame burned in it, its light pushing back the darkness.

She dared a step deeper into the world, even as the ground sucked her in further.

“I came here before!” she shouted with a voice that felt weak but echoed.

Yes.

The Archon’s voice boomed, though his mouth did not move.

This was his world, after all, and his words were known to all within.

“And you took me here. Stole my thoughts and soul. You call that love?”

Is it not love to desire something?

“I was afraid of you, but the Dragon almost killed you, didn’t he?”

The Archon rose from his throne.

You will learn to love me. And if you don’t, I will destroy everything and everyone.

The fire burned hotter in Alice’s hand.

“Do you know what I realized after you fought the Dragon? You’re not a god. Gods don’t bleed. You’re a thing just like the rest of us. And maybe you’re stronger than I am. Maybe I’m not powerful enough.”

She held the flame up and it burned brighter.

It wasn’t a weapon.

It was a torch.

“That’s why I didn’t come alone.”

Though the shadows of the Archon’s mind were thick and powerful, Alice’s torch was bright and it could be seen in the distant corners of the hive mind for those that knew where to look.

“But the Dragon was human. And if one of us could kill you . . .”

Shadows formed in the dark as they approached.

“How could you stand against all of us?”

MIGUEL ANDRES DE LA CRUZ was hunting in the dark of a hot Filipino jungle when the shadow of a woman came to him.

The shadows had tormented him before, but this was the first one to ever speak.

The Japanese had honed in on a bloodline they felt was best suited for the Ghost Program, and three sisters were added to it. Yuki, Sakura, and Hana Takamura. Nothing was special in their lives or upbringings, but they all performed remarkably well per their test results. Before the Ghost Program, they had lived in a small fishing village and had never traveled far from the province, nor understood any English.

It was fortunate that when Alice spoke, the words needed no translation.

Étienne Dubois and Henry Ashcroft were the first two graduates from the European Federation’s initiative. Dubois had watched his brother die in the trial phase and Ashcroft joined when his wife was killed.

Both accepted Alice’s invitation.

And there were more, each coming from every corner of the world that had a program to begin with. Americans, Chinese, Germans, Indians—they all answered the call.

And now that Alice lit the way, they all stepped into the dark and each lent their strength to the war.

The shadows of the Archon’s mind crept back as the light of the Ghosts entered into the world. One by one, they lifted their hands and offered pain to the false god.

Red-hot chains wrapped around him, but he immediately snapped them and pulled away.

Sharp blades slammed into his chest and opened black wounds.

The Archon screamed with the fury of a god whose kingdom had begun to fall.

But he would not die here.

Not without a fight.

“I’ll kill you.”

ALICE’S EYES snapped open just as the dead man flew through the air. She lifted her arm and the ragged body slammed into her gauntlet, the force knocking her onto her side.

She gasped as she hit the ground.

The Archon screamed as he thrust his arm down through the air and tore a couch in two.

Alice rolled to her feet and bolted down the hallway. She took a turn that put a wall between them.

But she saw the Archon shift his hip and she knew what would come next.

She went low as his wing sliced through the wall where her head would have been.

Splinters rained down on her as she moved into the kitchen. She slammed against the center island and caught herself. The wall behind her burst apart as the Archon surged through it.

Alice turned away and sprinted to the opposite opening into the hallway near the stairs, daring a look back to see the Archon blast into the kitchen and blow the island apart.

“Kill you!” he screeched.

But he’d grown slower and dull, and fought like an enraged bull that knew no better than to ram its head into things.

Alice bolted toward the front door, but a large, six-armed creature dropped down from the roof. Its appendages flailed wildly as it surged toward her.

She squeezed her fist and shattered its life. It took two more wildly running steps before it slammed into the doorframe and blocked her exit. She shot a glance back to see the Archon prowling forward with awkward, jagged steps.

They were killing him in the hive mind.

She shot up the stairs, her heavy boots pounding, but the Archon jumped and reached for her, nearly snagging her as she moved.

She got to the second floor and the Archon came up to the steps behind her.

He growled, but she could see the bubbles popping under his flesh, the acid in his brain starting to boil again.

She pulled her rifle off her shoulder and leveled it at him.

“Will you fucking die?” she screamed as she fired.

The bullets snapped down and hit the Archon in the face, splitting the skin with tiny, black dots of blood. He sneered and showed his teeth as he continued to thump up the stairs.

Her rifle went dry and she dropped it with a clatter to the ground.

She turned and ran down the hallway past closed doors as the Archon staggered behind her.

There was one door open at the end: her bedroom.

She ran inside and turned to face him. She clenched both her fists as she planted one foot forward.

The Archon twisted and thumped like one leg had gone stiff as he came after her, spit and blood dripping from his mouth as he crouched to fit into the hallway.

The veins in Alice’s neck popped and hot blood dribbled from her nose as she screamed, her whole body tensing with power as she called all she had to push against him.

And though her focus was here, she was also there in the hive mind, dimly aware of the horrors and war. Few of the Ghosts were experienced, and most had their powers for a short time, but there were too many.

But even from here, with her focus broken, Alice could feel another step down into the void, offering his strength for war.

Eli.

Her son stepped into the dark world and gave her strength.

The Archon’s head rolled back as he pounded forward, showing the whites of his eyes as his gaze kept a deadly focus on her.

“I will kill the boy,” he promised. “I’ll pull him apart piece by piece. I’ll kill them all.”

“You’ll never touch my son again!” Alice screamed.

The pressure boiled up her throat and through the core of her body. She channeled it through her hands and sent it at him.

Her heart thumped like a racehorse inside her head, threatening to break.

She ground her teeth so hard it hurt and her vision started to blur.

The pressure built too great, and like a bomb, it exploded.

The Archon’s head snapped back loud enough that Alice heard it crack.

He fell forward, one arm coming up to brace against the wall, and his eyes popped from his skull as his mouth opened and he spewed out his insides. His stomach came next, popping open like someone had pulled the zipper to let his guts spill.

It was as if something had grabbed and squeezed.

Alice’s hand was tight in front of her.

But as the Archon went still and he collapsed to the ground, the wind came out of Alice and she did the same. First falling to a knee

Then to her back.

She thumped backward onto the armored plate and stared up at the ceiling.

She blinked once, then twice.

The world went black.

DEEP MOANS STIRRED ALICE AWAKE. She felt as if she’d fallen off a building as she slugged to her feet. Her vision was blurry like she’d taken a blow to the head.

She tried to find herself as something groaned again.

“Who’s there?” she asked.

He’s dead.

The voice came through the hive mind, not in words, but in feelings.

Alice could feel it and knew it was not a threat.

She rolled to her side and climbed to her knees. It took another second before she found the strength to fight into a standing position. She rested her arm against a wall and took breaths as her mind regained its focus.

And now she could see it.

It was the Janissary, lying over the dead god.

I failed.

The Janissary cried through the hive mind. His long arms stretched over the dead body as he mourned.

Alice’s whole body hurt. She dragged one leg as she moved into the hallway.

I failed.

The Janissary said again, careless of how close she’d gotten.

“Yes, you have.”

She squeezed her hand into a fist and the Janissary slumped over with a final gasp.

Alice eased her way downstairs. She glanced once to the front door before turning from it and heading toward the garage door.

She tried the handle, but it was locked, so she reached up and turned the bolt.

The door opened and she limped down the two concrete steps.

She slapped her hand against the old opener.

The door groaned and rose as she wobbled outside.

She gave half a look to all the dead creatures lying in the street as she made her way to the porch again.

With a groan, she climbed the few steps and settled into one of her father’s patio chairs.

She leaned back and closed her eyes, but felt another itch in the hive mind.

She opened her eyes and saw the white sedan approaching. Eli burst from it and sprinted toward her. Miles came out behind him, grinning.

“Mom!” Eli screamed as he grabbed onto her. She burst into tears and laughed as she squeezed him.

Miles offered an apologetic shrug. “He told me it was safe to come back and he hasn’t been wrong so far. I figured you’d probably need a ride anyway. You do, don’t you?”

Alice closed her eyes tight, tears still rolling down her face as she continued to laugh.

“Yes.”

“Good,” Miles said as he approached.

He patted Eli on the back and offered Alice his hand.

“Then how about we all get the hell out of here?”

EPILOGUE

“YOU STILL WITH US?” a voice asked.

Moller opened her eyes and tried to speak, but her vision was blurry.

“Yeah, you are. Give it a minute.”

Someone put a straw up to her mouth and she took a drink.

She let out a sigh and pulled a shaky hand to her face to rub her eyes, but found a hole.

Oh, right, the synthetic. She always seemed to forget about it.

She rubbed the other eye and her vision cleared.

“Where am I?” she asked.

“Home, but it’s been a while. We’re patching you up.”

It took some strength, but Moller leaned up. She saw Roles with a nasty scar down his face.

“What happened?” she asked.

“A lot.” He moved closer.

He was missing an arm too, the sleeve of one jacket rolled up.

“Jesus,” she whispered.

“Ahh, it’s not so bad. I’m too old to qualify to be patched up so it means I’m going into retirement, whether I like it or not. Enough about me, though, let’s talk about you. Your system went into shock, but they got you into cryo. The crew all figured you’d be dead, but you never seem to stop kicking.”

Moller swallowed. “What about the mission? Did the bomb even work?”

“About that.” Roles looked down at something. He dug through a stack of papers and handed one over.

Moller took it, but it was just a wave graph with a little notch out of tune with the rest of it. “This supposed to mean something to me?”

“Doesn’t mean shit to me either, but here.” He tapped the notch. “This is where the scientists tell me they detected a boom in the other reality.”

“So we blew them up?”

“Maybe. No one’s turned on a gate to stick their head in and find out. You want to try?”

She flattened out onto the bed. “No. Where do we stand?”

“Oh, the Archon, the Janissary, the Dragon, they’re all dead. And after this little . . .” He tapped the notch. “The rest of them seemed to just trip over themselves. They blew the worm that was harassing ships out of the water last week. Just a little mopping up to do here and there, but the war’s over. That one anyway. I’m sure another’s already brewing. You know how it is.”

“I know how it is,” Moller agreed.

“Well, here’s the thing. You’ve been gone for a while. Few months now, actually. Your trip back was a lot longer than the way there. They had to ration the fuel after that mishap. We had to send up a ship to meet you all a quarter of the way in to refuel. Took some real skill from the flight team to get you pointed back in this direction and limp home enough for us to do it.”

“I’d applaud if it didn't hurt.”

“Yeah, well, that’s where we’re at. You’ve got time to catch up on politics and everything, but there’s something we have to clear up now.”

“There always is, isn’t there?”

“Like I said, I don’t qualify for mechanized limb surgery, and I’m now being forced into retirement. But I’m allowed to nominate my successor before I go. So what do you think?”

“You think I’d want your job?”

“Nobody wants this job. The best I’m getting out of it is forced medical retirement, a shit pension, and a pardon from John Winters for anything the next administration might want to dig up.”

“What about Marat? How’s he?”

“He’s been stopping by here every day. Little lovesick puppy. If you’re going to keep him, I hope you get him house-trained.”

She sighed. “I’m going to need time to rest and to think about things before I make any big decisions.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. What do I care, I’m out on my ass soon anyway, right? Like I said, no one wants this job. But you know what? If they didn’t force me out, I’d still be here. People like you and me, we don’t want this kind of work. We need it. But hey, you take all the time you need.”

Roles turned to leave and Moller stared up at the ceiling.

She heard the door open.

“Roles?” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck it. I’ll do it.”

“YOU WANT TO SAY ANYTHING, ELI?” Alice asked, her arm laid across her shoulder.

Eli got down on his knees and kissed the tombstone.

It had a smiling picture of Cora Winters on it.

They’d bought a plot for her beside Tommy Reeves and Alice’s mom.

“I miss you, Grandma,” Eli said as he rubbed his eyes. He climbed back onto his feet and came over to Alice. John leaned in and put his arms around the two of them. He rubbed the back of Eli’s head.

“I’m sure she misses you too, buddy.” John smiled softly.

“Eli? How about you run down to Miles and show him where that interesting creek is that you found. Just give me a minute here with Grandpa.”

“Okay.” He turned to run down the hill.

Miles bent his knees and waited to snatch up Eli.

“Is it true?” Alice asked.

“What?” John said as he turned to face her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“You’re resigning.”

He gave another soft smile. “Yeah, I want to spend some more time with you guys.”

“The country needs you to rebuild.”

John chuckled and shook his head. “No, they don’t. You’ve seen what they’re saying about me. Half of them want to string me up. The other half think I’m too old and stupid. Jim Baker tests far better. I’ve already told him: Blame everything on me if it makes it easier. Who gives a damn.”

“It’s not fair,” Alice said. “You don’t deserve it. Any one of those bastards would have torn the world apart.”

“Hey, when has fair ever had a thing to do with it? But really, I don’t care. I just want time with you two. But tell me more about him.” John tipped his head toward Miles.

“Eli loves him. He’s great with him.”

“How about you?”

“It’s so hard for me to think about any of that but . . . But yeah I do. I love him.”

“I hope so. He asked me if he could marry you.”

“He did?” Alice said, her voice rising with surprise.

“Bit more traditional than I would have expected from Westwood, right?” John frowned. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you though, was I?”

“Probably not, but I’m glad you did. I’ve had enough surprises. You coming over tonight?”

“Yeah, you having the Japanese fellow and Miles’ buddy over too?”

“Endo and Kevin, yeah they’re coming.”

John nodded. “I’ll make an appearance, but you know, I’d like to just stay here for a while. You go on ahead.”

“No, Dad, I’ll wait here with you.”

She leaned against him as he wrapped his arm around her.

“We’ll stay as long as you like.”

KANG MINJAE HADN’T BEEN able to make many choices in his life.

His father farmed rice, so that’s what he did.

He farmed rice.

That’s what he knew how to do, and it was all he was good at.

That was, until soldiers with rifles came into his village and rounded him up along with the other young men.

Minjae still remembered his mother’s worried eyes as they marched him away, but there was nothing she could do, so she let them take him.

That was how they lived.

The soldiers took him down into a bunker, and no one explained a damn thing when they stripped him naked and strapped him down to a cold, metal table.

He still remembered the absolute sense of panic in his chest when he watched them slice open his arm. The blade was so sharp it didn’t even hurt.

It was when they brought the parasite that he felt fear.

It was an awful, painful thing to feel its little wisps twine into his muscle and bury itself beneath his skin.

Minjae screamed, but they expected as much and they’d gagged him beforehand.

All the others from his village died, but not him.

He survived.

But no one had asked Minjae if he wanted to be a Dragon, had they?

They just made him into one.

It turned out farming rice wasn’t the only thing he was good at.

He’d been there when the Red Bitch came to China.

Minjae wasn’t even Chinese, he was Korean, but again, no one asked him what he wanted. She led him and a few others into a base to kill the rogue Dragon.

And they did.

Minjae had taken part in killing one of the most powerful things to ever walk in the world.

War was funny like that.

It was funny in a lot of ways.

Like how it was easy for things to go missing.

Things like the Dragon’s head.

When Zhao died and there was suddenly an open debate on who was in charge and what agreements were going to be validated, certain things slipped through the cracks.

Minjae had been one of those things.

So had the Dragon’s head.

So, with some effort and a little guile on his part, he made his way back to his village.

And it was there, with the blinds closed and his father’s toolset laid out, that he opened up his sack and dumped the Dragon’s head onto the floor.

Thump-thump-thump.

The dome-headed mass murderer stared up at Minjae with mouth agape, his tongue hanging loose like a dog’s.

It fascinated him.

It was strange, but something about the head had called to him the moment he’d laid hands on it.

He took one of his father’s tools and worked it under the dome.

The thing with farming rice was that it required patience, and Minjae had that in spades.

He was very patient, as it took the next five days with his simple tools to remove all the little pieces and all the screws and fasteners to slide the dome off the Dragon’s head.

With the head in his lap, Minjae looked up to make sure no one else had seen him through the window.

If someone had, it didn’t matter, because no one came.

So, Minjae made another big decision in his life.

He took his dirty fingers and stained nails and dug into the still-wet brains of the rogue Dragon.

He squeezed it into his fingers.

Never in his life had he imagined doing such a thing, but a strange instinct overwhelmed him.

And he took a bite.

It tasted disgusting and the grease ran down his chin. He could have wretched right then and there, but he didn’t.

Instead, he took another bite.

And another.

And more until his fingernails scratched the inside bone of the skull and he had to lick what little he could from between his fingers.

When it was finished, he dropped the useless remains to the ground with a thump and he stood.

He felt odd, though, he couldn’t say how.

It was as if a new world was opening inside him, and though they’d called him a Dragon before, he hadn’t really felt it.

It was only now, with his fingers licked clean, that he felt the weight of power.

He wasn’t Kang Minjae, rice farmer any more, no.

He felt different.

He felt like. . .

A god.

WHAT’S NEXT?

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ABOUT J.Z. FOSTER

J.Z. Foster is a writer originally from Ohio. He now lives in South Korea with his wife and daughter.

He received the writing bug from his mother, NYTimes best-selling author, Lori Foster.

Check out his other books and let him know how you like them!

Write him an email at:

JZFoster@JZFoster.com

WINTER GATE PUBLISHING

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Copyright © 2025 by Winter Gate Publishing All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental. Alice, Of Man / Winter Gate Publishing -- 1st ed.

Winter Gate Publishing. Reality Bleed: Alice, Of Man

Table of Contents

Title Page

Contents

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Epilogue

What’s Next?

About J.Z. Foster

Winter Gate Publishing

Copyright