The remaining ships represented the majority of the once dominant Allied States naval forces. A decade ago, an enemy helicopter would have been shot down before the pilots even saw the ships, but Azrael would be close enough to piss on them in a few moments.
He watched as more of his forces skittered up the hull of the warships from the smaller yachts and motorboats pulled up alongside them. Each of the smaller vessels had been filled with a mixture of Variants and Scions.
His faithful creatures now stalked the upper decks of the destroyer and the nearby escort ships, hunting down the scattered crew members. They had been preceded by seaborne Variants with gills and webbed claws and feet who had swum underwater, then overwhelmed the crews in a surprise assault.
A voice crackled over his headset. “Prophet, our forces are cleaning up the last survivors of the First Fleet crew.”
It was one of his faithful Scions.
“Very good,” Azrael said. “Have you located Vice President Lemke?”
“There’s no sign of him aboard the ships.”
“Alert all forces to focus their hunts. He cannot be allowed to escape.”
The chopper circled low over an aircraft carrier with a top deck puckered by ruptured metal. A single team of sailors held the bridge and fired at the deck where Variants advanced, using piles of debris for cover.
A few bullets pinged off the chopper, and the pilots pulled away.
Azrael took one last look as the chopper left them behind. Another explosion burst from inside the carrier, and it too began to list, no doubt taking on water. It was just a matter of time before Azrael’s forces took the final heretics.
The voice of another Scion commander broke over the comms. “Prophet, we believe we’ve identified the vice president’s position.”
“Where?”
“He was spotted in Punta del Morro. We believe there might be another sub positioned at that location.”
“Take me there,” Azrael said to the collaborator human pilot. He changed his headset channel to the Naval Commander. “The heretics are trying to escape with a sub at Punta Del Morro. Find it and destroy it.”
He turned to the six Scions in the helicopter.
Before they had been chosen, they had come from different walks of life. They had risen above their frail human pasts, cut up and put back together to become something far greater.
Azrael looked at the Scions in turn. “You are the best of my hunters, and tonight you get a chance to carry out your most important mission yet—find the heretic Dan Lemke.”
“We carry the faith,” the six death squad members replied.
“The first of you to find him will be rewarded with as much flesh as you can eat,” he said. “Whatever human prisoner you desire will be yours.”
The chopper descended over an overgrown grass field in front of the Castillo San Felipe de Morro. Layers of castle-like walls rose above choppy waves, bulwarked by towers between the gates. Azrael leapt out first, wielding his saw-toothed cutlass. The other six followed, each carrying a rifle, their swords strapped over their back.
As the chopper lifted off again, the thrum of the engines faded against the cacophony of the ongoing battle.
Azrael surveyed the open lawn behind them leading to Old San Juan. Human corpses lay strewn over the grass. Thrall Variants tore into them, devouring the corpses. Other prisoners were shackled by collaborators deployed to capture as many humans as they could. Those prisoners were taken to the Santa Maria Cemetery overlooking the sea to await their transport back to the Citadel. They were destined to become labor or food for his growing army.
One of the Scions near Azrael pointed a crooked, clawed finger to the gate leading into the castle. “I smell humans. Alive. They went that way.”
“Find them!” Azrael yelled.
The six soldiers rushed through the gate and entered a cramped courtyard filled with doorways under white arches. Azrael narrowed his eyes, studying each of the entries.
“That way,” the lead Scion said.
The beast led them into a dark corridor. Stone steps took them down into another tunnel. Azrael sniffed the air. He could smell the stink of humans, their pungent body odor and sweat.
They could not have gotten far.
Darkness filled the tunnel, far too black for a human to see, but Azrael and his augmented soldiers used their enhanced sight to scan for prey as they delved deeper under the castle, north toward where the point met the sea. If Lemke made it to those waters and into his sub, Azrael would fail.
He hadn’t come all the way to Puerto Rico while his forces fought the heretics in Vegas just to let one of the most powerful human beings left in the world slip so easily between his claws.
“We’re getting close!” one of the Scions said. “I can smell it!”
Sniffing the air, Azrael too detected the scent of flesh and fear.
Though their eyesight was preternaturally strong, even they couldn’t see as the final traces of surface light vanished in the tunnels. The death squad turned on the tactical lights fixed to the barrels of their rifles. Beams of white light probed the darkness, cutting through the black to reveal mold-covered stones and rubble.
They took a corner, raw adrenaline filling Azrael. He grinned imagining the fear that must be striking through Lemke at this moment. It had been too long since he had taken part in a hunt like this, and he had to hold in a primordial howl.
They came to another intersection, taking a sharp left, still following the scent trail. Between the sound of their claws on the stone, Azrael heard something else. The clatter of boots and shoes on concrete.
“They’re just ahead,” he growled.
The death squad charged, sprinting through the darkness, their lights bobbing.
Muzzle flashes lit up the passage, followed instantly by the sharp crack of gunfire.
One of the Scions yelled out in
