“Of course.”
Azrael traced his claws over the man’s chin, leaving crimson trails. Then he snapped forward and bit hard into the man’s neck, chewing into the flesh and gristle.
With the back of his clawed hand, Azrael wiped the blood from his lips, watching his Scions feed on what was left of the prisoners. If the government of the Allied States was retreating all the way to Puerto Rico, then victory was even closer than he had anticipated.
He looked at the dead body of the commander. A waste of a brave man who could have served the New Gods.
At least it would not be a wasted meal. He gave in to the animal instincts ingrained in his genetically engineered body and fed.
***
A cool salty breeze snaked through Galveston. Only a few days had passed since they had held a funeral to honor oil tycoon and rancher S.M. Fischer. Fischer was just another life tragically lost in a war that Captain Reed Beckham had thought was over.
Before this new conflict had erupted, government estimates had reported there were only scattered pockets of Variants left after the Great War of Extinction, most of them living in the abandoned cities.
Beckham had believed them, and he regretted that now more than ever.
Humanity was paying a devastating price for that mistaken belief as outposts and bases fell in droves. Now, while Vice President Dan Lemke was establishing a Central Command for the Allied States government on Puerto Rico, the remnants of the Allied States’ civilians and armed forces had retreated to the American Southeast.
General Souza and his LNO Lieutenant Festa had temporarily returned from Puerto Rico to the continental Allied States. With their help, President Ringgold had set up the United States Special Operations Command in Galveston to run special ops missions.
Galveston was one of a handful of bases still standing, especially thanks to General Cornelius who had fortified the island. The city now served as a temporary home for Beckham and his wife, Dr. Kate Lovato, along with their son Javier. Likewise, Master Sergeant Parker Horn and his girls, Jenny and Tasha had relocated here with their dogs, Spark and Ginger.
The kids loved the beaches and the sun, but Beckham knew this idyllic lifestyle would not last long. Soon the Variants and collaborators would advance on this base, too.
But when the enemy arrived, the outpost would be ready.
He stood at the front of a parking lot beside his best friend and brother-in-arms, Horn, who wore a tank top showing off the tattoos adorning his muscular arms. They watched over the training of over a hundred volunteers who had stepped up to defend the walls. Most of the recruits looked beleaguered, covered in sweat. Some could barely stand.
They suffered from exhaustion and hunger, but Beckham knew those conditions would be no better now than when they had to face the Variants in the field. These greenhorns needed to learn the value of perseverance.
“Just one more drill, you maggots!” Horn shouted.
Beckham gave him a look.
“What?” Horn asked. “I always wanted to say that.”
“Take it down a notch, man… Jesus.”
Sergeant First Class Jeni Rico jogged over. “Yeah, Big Horn,” she grunted. “Half of these people are malnourished. Cut ’em some slack.”
Horn shrugged. “Being soft gets people killed.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Line up, everyone!”
A few groans came from the recruits and volunteers, but one of the new soldiers stepped up, ready to go. Timothy Temper wore a stern look, much like his dad Jake had once donned in the line of duty. The kid was looking more like a man every day.
Timothy motioned for some of the straggling recruits to get into line.
“Almost done, then we get some chow,” he said encouragingly.
“Chow for those that put in the effort,” Horn said.
Rico shot him a glare.
“Just kidding!” Horn called out.
Every time Beckham saw Timothy, he felt guilty about what had happened at Outpost Portland, not only to Jake, but also to Timothy in the fallout of the outpost’s destruction. But he couldn’t change the past. All he could do was push forward, just like Timothy was doing.
“The Variants don’t care if you’re tired or hungry or how old or young you are,” Timothy said. “They are the predators and you are the prey until you decide to change that.”
A few of the weary recruits straightened.
“He’s good,” Horn said quietly.
“He’s been out there,” Beckham said. “He knows what it’s like firsthand.”
“He’s lucky, but he’s also got skill, unlike most of these people.” Rico sighed. “We got our work cut out for ourselves, my friends.”
Horn clapped his hands together. “Get moving, and you will all be soldiers in no time!” He looked at Rico for approval. “That better?”
She smirked and led the recruits with Timothy toward a maze of abandoned buildings that simulated the wastelands and what they would face.
Gunshots rang out at a separate part of the drilling field. It didn’t make Beckham happy to be using precious ammo, but these people needed to learn how to shoot or they would waste even more in battle.
Rico signaled for her team to move to an obstacle course. Beckham watched Timothy deftly scale a rope net, then army crawl under a series of low-hanging barbed wire strands. The young man cleared the obstacles and vanished into the old buildings.
“Best soldier of the bunch,” Horn said. He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Maybe someday he’ll even find a place on Team Ghost.”
The last thing Beckham wanted to imagine was the young man spending even more time out in the field on exceedingly dangerous missions. But there might not be any other option with the way the war was going.
A C-130 flew overhead, engines roaring over the parking lot. It dipped beyond the buildings to land on the makeshift runway along Seawall Boulevard.
“More refugees?” Horn asked, using a hand to shield his eyes from the late afternoon sun.
“I didn’t think
