“The New Gods implanted a GPS tracker in him using some of their weird tech,” Fitz said.
“I assume it’s gone,” Rico said.
“Yeah, the Canadians sent some scouts out with it. Sent it far, far north into the mountains. It’ll throw the New Gods off our trail and should save Calgary.”
The chopper drew closer to the strip, and the team fell into silence, mentally preparing for action. Outside the open door, sparks of gunfire lit up the blanket of black canvassing the ruined city. Each flash was like a miniature lightning strike, illuminating the twisted ruins of what had once been Paris Las Vegas’ Eiffel Tower or the cratered dirt where the Bellagio’s fountains had long-since evaporated.
The crew chief guided the M240 back and forth, searching for a target, as the chopper soared over the apocalyptic landscape.
“Reaching LZ in two,” said the primary pilot over the comm channel.
Fitz checked over his weapons again. Rico stopped chewing and took out a wad of gum. She tucked it under her helmet and gave Fitz a dimpled smile.
Fitz smiled back and then scanned the team.
Ace seemed to be mumbling to himself. The older man wasn’t particularly religious as far as Fitz knew, but maybe after everything he had seen, he was warming to the idea. Dohi sat like a statue, calm and collected as usual. Next to Dohi, Corrin wore body armor the Canadians in Calgary had reluctantly given him. If he was nervous, he didn’t show it.
Neilson remained stoic, but Toussaint had her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling in deep breaths as if she was trying to collect herself. Daugherty stared out the window, his hands pressed against the plexiglass, bottom lip shaking slightly.
Rico called over a private channel to Fitz. “You sure they’re up for this?”
She nodded subtly toward Spearhead.
“They haven’t been in the field as long as we have, but they’re up for the task,” he said.
Rico seemed to take his word for it. They both knew they needed the help with the loss of Lincoln and Mendez.
The chopper slowed and began its descent toward the University Medical Center.
This Prophet better still be here, Fitz thought.
After flipping down his NVGs, he saw the cubic shapes of one building with a sign announcing “Trauma” and “Children’s Hospital”. The second building they had been briefed on had once been the UMC’s burn center, but was reduced to piles of broken brick, twisted girders, and gravel.
“That’s one less place to check out,” Ace grumbled over the comms.
The pilot swooped in next to the Trauma and Children’s Hospital units.
Their primary LZ, the hospital’s helipad, was on top of a parking garage next to the building. But half the parking garage had collapsed, spilling concrete and rusted vehicles.
“Primary LZ is no good,” one of the pilots reported. “Headed for our secondary.”
The chopper banked toward the parking lot. Humvees, ambulances, military transports, and other vehicles were situated in mostly orderly rows around the asphalt. Between them was a wide space with the broken frames of tents and defunct air filtration units.
Fitz knew from their briefing this had once been a quarantine site during the beginning days of the first war.
The rotor wash from the descending chopper kicked up a few ragged chunks of tent fabric still clinging to the metal poles, and the wheels thudded onto the concrete. One of the crew chiefs waved them out while the other covered them with the M240.
“Radio silence,” Fitz said.
They fanned out between scattered cots and crates of abandoned medical supplies, taking firing positions. Fitz’s nerves sparked with electricity as the chopper lifted off, disappearing into the black of night. He searched the cars and vehicles parked around them, his eyes roving for a target.
As the thrum of the rotor blades disappeared with the bird, the echoing chatter of gunfire and low explosions from grenades boomed in the distance.
Fitz tuned into the public channels to hear frantic voices calling for reinforcements. Others requested medics. The fresh recruits that had joined the mission were having a hard time dealing with the sporadic skirmishes.
All the more reason for Ghost and Spearhead to find the Prophet quickly.
Fitz signaled to the others, gesturing to see if anyone had seen any contacts.
They shook their heads.
So far, nothing.
Fitz’s stomach tightened. He had expected some kind of welcoming party, especially with the intrusion of the chopper. Had the science team been wrong about the Prophet’s potential locations? Or had the New Gods’ leadership already escaped?
He signaled for Dohi to take point, then for Toussaint and Daugherty to take rearguard. The others fell in beside him.
They filtered between the abandoned vehicles and quarantine supplies left in the parking lot, making their way toward the entrance to the UMC. The tall glass doors and windows leading into the atrium had long since been shattered. Crystalline glass pebbles crunched under Fitz’s blades.
Dohi made it into the hospital’s atrium first, taking shelter behind a column. He signaled that he still had no eyes on hostiles, but the others needed to join him.
Ace and Rico hurried behind Fitz, escorting Corrin for the Chimera’s protection. Behind them came Spearhead.
When Fitz made it to Dohi, his NVGs adjusted to the low light inside. From instinct, he covered his nose with his wrist to mitigate the stench of death and sour fruit.
He pulled up his shemagh scarf to cover his face. Little good that did, but at least it made him feel like he was doing something.
Shouldering his rifle, he stepped into the vast two-story atrium. Long vines hung from the ceiling, pulsing and squirming. Webbing stretched along the walls as if it was the vascular system of some giant animal.
Vines snaked through skulls and ribcages of desiccated corpses that had long since drained of any living matter. Fitz scanned the escalators and stairs wrapped in webbing. This place was huge. It would take several hours to search the place from basement to top floor.
He turned back to Spearhead and the rest of Ghost. They would have to split up. It
