Red looked into Rook’s eyes with the closest thing to kindness he’d ever seen in the species. “Bad words.”
For a moment, Rook thought she was remembering some of the more colorful phrases he’d shouted at her a year ago. But then her expression turned to terror. She took Rook’s arms in her hands and squeezed. Rook almost didn’t hear her past the intense pain she was inflicting.
“Can’t speak the bad words.”
Rook grunted in pain, and Red released him, falling back. Her eyes closing. “What are the bad words?”
“Can’t speak them,” she whispered. “
Her head fell to the side.
Red, last of the Neanderthals, was dead.
Queen returned moments later, weapon at the ready, but unnecessary. After working her way through the sea of bones, she stood over Rook, who was still kneeling over Red.
“You okay?”
“Thanks to her.”
He moved, giving Queen a clear view.
“Red?” she asked.
With a nod, he added, “She said they wanted the ‘bad words.’”
“Bad words.” Queen thought back over their last year of training; training that was supposed to have prepared them for the strange and unusual events they were encountering. But the reference was too vague to even speculate about. “Could be anything.”
“Yeah,” Rook said. “Well, I can think of at least one bad word that’s applicable after what I just experienced: we’re fucked.” He closed Red’s eyes with his fingers, stood, and looked at Queen. “God help anyone else who tangles with these things.”
FIFTEEN
Fort Bragg, North Carolina
TO THEIR CREDIT, King’s mother and father didn’t say a word as he pushed his car to one hundred twenty miles an hour. As they reached the highway exit for Fort Bragg, his mother’s only comment was that it was miraculous they hadn’t been pulled over. En route, King had put in calls to every member of the team, including Deep Blue, and finally to the office at Bragg itself. No one picked up. It could mean the team was engaged in a phones-off meeting, but Bragg not answering combined with the warning he’d received was ominous and he kept his foot pressed heavy on the gas pedal.
As they sped down the entry road to Bragg, disregarding the thirty-mile-per-hour speed limit, King saw the first security checkpoint ahead. He took his foot off the gas, intending to have the men there send word ahead. But as they drew nearer he saw that the metal gate lay broken and bent on the side of the road. The guardhouse still stood, but one of the walls had been shattered. He stopped next to the small building and saw the two guards lying dead in the grass.
“Stay here,” he said to his parents before opening the door.
As soon as the door opened, the distant sounds of battle filled his ears. Despite his urge to hop back in the car and tear off into the thick of it, his training kept him rooted. First he checked the downed guards for pulses. Finding none, he collected their M4s. Before heading back to the car he stopped by the shed, kicked through the rubble, and found a handheld radio. He turned it on and shouting voices filled the air. He quickly dialed through the channels and found the same on each; soldiers shouting orders, asking for reinforcements, describing large, fast- moving objects that couldn’t be stopped.
King dropped the radio. The strangeness of the attack confirmed the warning he’d received. Someone was after Fiona.
He rushed back to the car and slid into the driver’s seat. He handed one of the M4s to his father. “Can you handle this?”
Peter gave a curt nod. “Been a while, but I’ll manage.”
King shut the door and put the car in gear.
“Hey,” Lynn said from the backseat. When King looked back at her, she glanced at Peter’s M4. “I’m a better shot than Davy Crockett here,” she said, motioning to Peter.
King’s father smiled and looked at him. “It’s true. She could give Annie Oakley a run for her money.”
With no time to waste wondering about his parents hidden abilities, he drew his Sig Sauer pistol and handed it back to his mother. Then they were off, speeding past the main entrance to the base, where a statue of a soldier usually stood. King gave the missing statue’s base a quick glance, then veered hard to the left as a car rolled ass over teakettle past them on the right.
“Whoa!” Peter shouted as he watched the spinning car crash into the welcome center and explode.
King ignored the explosion filling his rearview mirror and focused on driving through the chaos. Soldiers ran in every direction, some firing over the car at something he couldn’t see. Explosions plumed all around, some bearing the telltale signature of fragmentation grenades, but other, larger and more fiery explosions looked like fuel depots or large vehicles exploding. And others, composed primarily of brick and concrete debris, looked more like invisible wrecking balls were tearing the base apart from the inside.
Which wasn’t far from the truth, King realized, as a dark blur ran up beside the car. With the car, and the object outside it, moving so fast he couldn’t make out any details, but its intentions were clear. “Hold on!” King shouted, intending to hit the brakes, but never getting the chance.
A massive force struck the rear side of the car, sending it into a three-hundred-sixty-degree spin. As the tires squealed, filling the air with the scent of smoldering rubber, King caught a quick glance of a largely shapeless, but four-legged, mass still in pursuit despite the constant bombardment of rounds fired by concealed special ops soldiers.
King yanked the wheel, compensating for the spin, and setting them back on course. He gunned the engine and shouted to his parents. “Everyone okay?”
Lynn slapped him on the shoulder three times. “Just go, go, go!” She watched over her shoulder as the thing gave chase. For a moment it appeared they would outrun the monster, but a sudden shake, followed by the left rear wheel’s rubber shedding off and rolling to the side of the road, slowed their progress.
King saw the creature gaining once again and made the final turn toward the barracks where he knew the highest concentration of soldiers would be—and, he hoped, Fiona.
At least one of his hopes proved true. Rounding the corner, he saw a line of Delta operators armed with a vast array of heavy-hitting weapons, from grenade launchers to antitank missile launchers laying in wait.
Knowing the speeding car with three passengers was not the enemy, the soldiers split and allowed them to pass. King stopped the car and directed his parents to the nearby barracks. “Hide in there. I’ll come get you.”
To his relief, his parents followed his orders, moving into the building, weapons high and ready … like people trained to handle weapons. Trained to kill. He forced the thought of his mother killing a man from his mind and joined the men at the line.
“Where’s my team?” he shouted to Jeff Kafer, a fellow Delta team leader with a blond mop of hair and a thick mustache. He didn’t know him well, but Rook and Kafer were friends. Both were loud and liked to tell jokes at the bar. Both had several sisters. And both loved their weapons like children.
“Not on base, King,” Kafer replied. “And you know I don’t know where.”
“Have you seen Fiona?”
Kafer motioned toward the garage fifty feet behind them. “Saw Aleman back there. Looks injured, but he might know.”
“Here it comes!” one of the men shouted.
Kafer raised his voice to make sure everyone heard him. “Wait on me!”
The line took aim at the charging mass of stone and waited.
King did not. He turned and ran for Aleman, who he could see slumped against one of the large garage doors, a smear of blood stretching down to the back of his head. He didn’t get ten feet before Kafer yelled, “Fire!”
