“Tom Petty was right when he wrote ‘Learning to Fly,’” whispered Miles, his eyes so tightly shut his lashes had nearly disappeared. “And that was why Astral kept scrol ing through al those disaster videos. To show us how to reach for the sky, even though it feels like we keep crashing.” Everyone was nodding, even Jack, though he was probably only doing it to be polite. Cole said,
“Exactly! Never give up, baby! Not even when your glider dives straight into the Pacific!” Bergman’s eyes snapped open. He threw his knife into the air, caught it so that the blade now faced the Rider, performed a neat one-two sidestep, and stuck that sucker so hard that they both fel to the ground.
The last pair of ribs withdrew from Bergman’s chest. He cried out, rol ing off the Rider as it freed him. But he was back in an instant, shoving his knife into the parasite’s heart, once, twice, a third time until he was sure it would never twitch again.
For long, quiet moments everyone just stared at the corpse. Then Bergman stood up, swayed, and sat back down. “I feel like a Chinese noodle. Seriously. If you want me to move, you’re going to have to use chopsticks. And a stretcher.”
“You’re so thin we
“Not as much as dead scientists!” she snapped.
Dave found Bergman’s glasses and set them back on his nose. Miles peered at Cassandra over the tops of the lenses. “You are such a nag.” He looked up at Dave. “You know what you’re getting into with this one, right?”
Dave patted him on the shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe what kind of reward your life is worth to her, buddy. Believe me, I’m golden.”
Bergman looked at his hands, lying limp between his knees. “So, did you get what you wanted?” Cole came to stand beside them, wiping the blood off the butt of his Beretta as he moved.
“Yeah, dude. Tel us poor Miles didn’t sacrifice his vamp cherry in vain.” As Miles huffed in embarrassment Dave said, “I made the connection. Hanzi’s in Spain.” Cassandra was the first to pick up on the hesitation in his tone. “What did you see?” she asked.
“He was riding a motorcycle. Wearing a helmet, so that was good. Except that I saw him racing toward a parked semi. And there was no way, going as fast as he was driving, that he could’ve stopped in time.”
Can a group of friends col ectively shiver? Probably not mine, but they did share a moment of frozen silence. Then Cassandra said, “Did you feel like it was happening as you saw it? Or was it a future scene—you know, just potential that you pul ed from the stratus?” Dave shrugged. “Hey, I’m new at this. Plus I was kind of in the middle of a tornado.”
“You’re a Special Ops commander,” Cassandra drawled. “Give it your best bet.” He leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers. “You don’t let me get away with anything, do you?”
She kissed him and purred, “Only when you deserve to.”
Cole said, “No smoochies when the rest of us only have animals to cuddle with.” Jack and Astral looked up. And if my dog looked slightly concerned, it’s only because he understands every word people say. “Don’t worry,” Cole told him. “You’re not my type. But you—” He wiggled his eyebrows at Astral, who sat down and began to lick her paws, as if she felt a bath might be in order, considering.
Dave got to his feet and helped Cassandra stand while Bergman grabbed Cole’s leg and climbed up far enough on his own that our sniper final y took pity and gave him a hand. “Why do you love messing with my inventions?” he asked.
“Jealous, I guess,” Cole replied. “Jaz is practical y swimming in cool gadgets. I save your life and what do I get?” He motioned to his gore-covered khakis and hunting shirt.
“I’l buy you new ones,” said Bergman.
“Or…” Cole began.
Bergman’s eyebrows lifted in sudden comprehension. Maybe he could be forgiven for not understanding right away. After al , he’d just fought a Rider and won. His wounds, while closing quickly under the strange healing qualities of the parasite’s weblike saliva, stil hurt like a mother.
And, no matter what Dave and Cole had done to help, he never would’ve survived the first leg of that journey without depending on his own strength. Which, he’d final y learned, was hefty—but not unlimited. Even so, he said, “I could invent you something marvelous. Both of you,” he added, catching Dave’s eye.
Dave waved him off. “Don’t bother with me, Miles. I’m comfortable using the tools I’ve been trained with.” Having cleaned off both his knives, he resheathed them and led the cemetery crew back toward the tour bus thinking that, considering he was about to become a dad and he’d like to be around a lot more than Albert had been, maybe soon he wouldn’t even need those anymore.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
One of the easiest ways to infiltrate an enemy base is to let a patrol catch you and then demand that they take you to their leader. Of course, then you’re depending on the patrol ers to have some sense of honor and military discipline. This couldn’t be the case with any member of Brude’s army.
Which was why, once the Shit Sniffer had led us to an enemy patrol, we’d decided to put a slight twist on that plan.
The unit we targeted was made up of Brude’s finest and most diverse fighters. They came to him from every age of Earth’s history—their uniforms ranging from barely scraped animal skins to medalplastered dress blues. As expected, their weapons ran the gamut too. Except, since firearms didn’t function in the Thin, they’d al hung on to their favorite blades. Some had remembered them long and glittering, engraved with the runes of their personal gods. Others carried daggers so dul only the violent double-fisted shove of heavily muscled biceps would prove them fatal.
