More flashes of gunfire illuminated the tunnel in strobing blasts, and another Scion went down. Azrael sighted up targets and fired at them in turn.
Human cries sounded from the men caught in the hail of his bullets. Another Scion crumpled from a bullet to the head, leaving only two of his soldiers.
The smell of blood in the air was too strong, awakening the primal animal within Azrael.
“On me!” Azrael screamed.
The remaining two Scions let loose a salvo that lanced into a pair of soldiers. The rest of the group of heretics disappeared around another bend in the tunnel, and Azrael barreled after them with his Scions.
Starlight bled into the next section of the tunnel. They had reached the end under the fortress, and a salty seaborne breeze swept through the corridor. Three human soldiers waited with their rifles shouldered.
Azrael slid under the gunfire, but one of his loyal comrades was not quick enough. The beast was cut down in a spray of bullets.
He fired from the ground while the final Scion lay down covering fire. All three of the human soldiers slumped over, dead or dying.
The screams of agony were enough to fuel Azrael and the remaining Scion. He leaped over the soldiers, letting his final soldier finish them off with a cutlass.
Azrael ran out into the weeds and grass of a pathway overlooking the Caribbean.
Three men in ACUs ran, covering a man who had to be the vice president. The final Scion joined Azrael as they stalked the human prey toward a concrete platform.
Amid the choppy water crashing against the black rocks past the pathway, Azrael noticed a Zodiac bobbing. Three men waited in the rigid-hulled inflatable boat. Beyond the craft, a submarine had pierced the surface of the deeper waters.
“Do not hit the heretic,” Azrael said. He raised his rifle next to the final Scion and lined up the sights. Two of the soldiers collapsed under the well-aimed shots, but return fire from the Zodiac forced Azrael to roll away.
He got up and charged ahead, aiming toward the third soldier. His surviving Scion covered him, providing suppressing fire against the men in the Zodiac.
Unstrapping his cutlass, Azrael flanked Lemke and the final soldier, catching them off guard and stabbing the guard through the guts. The man slumped against Azrael, gurgles coming from his mouth.
Azrael used the man as a human shield as he strode toward the vice president.
“No, no, no!” Lemke said, still running for the boat.
Gunfire from the remaining Scion tore into the Zodiac, killing two of the three men. Azrael withdrew his cutlass and pushed the still breathing man to the ground. Slotted eyes on the heretic, Azrael bolted forward.
When he was just within reach, Azrael lunged toward him, snagging his claws through the back of Lemke’s shirt. A scream rang out as Azrael pulled the vice president to the dirt.
Several final gunshots rang out before the last Scion ran over.
“All hostiles eliminated,” he growled.
No longer masked by the sounds of gunfire, Azrael heard the churning engines of his fleet converging on the submarine still waiting for Lemke.
He yanked the vice president to his face, drawing him close, eye to eye.
There was certainly fear in the man’s gaze, but there was also an undeniable anger.
“You won’t win,” Lemke said, wincing.
“Oh, I have already won, “Azrael snarled. “You are just too naïve to see it. This is the end of the Allied States and the end of you.”
— 15 —
Dohi searched the patient rooms and offices on the fifth floor of the University Medical Center of Southern Nevada for some sign of the Prophet. He picked through the tangles of webbing lining a hallway as they made their way toward the administrative offices.
Distant booms from the main strip still sounded like thunder, and the UMC shook slightly with each impact. It sounded like the other teams were getting pounded out there, especially from the constant chatter over the comms.
Dohi had turned off the public channels to concentrate on his own team, Spearhead was in bad shape. Neilson could hardly stand and Toussaint had a swollen face, one of her eyes sealed shut by swelling.
Fitz stayed close beside Dohi with Corrin, while Rico and Ace watched their six.
No one dared speak. Too many monsters stalked the corridors, searching for them.
Sporadic shouts called up the stairwells. Howls and shrieks blasted through the elevator shafts. The collaborators and Variants were searching the building for them, and Dohi knew it wouldn’t be long before they caught up.
He just hoped they found the Prophet first, assuming the beast was even still here.
Every passing minute that seemed to be less likely.
But something was ahead. The webbing grew denser, clogging the halls. Dohi could almost feel the network pulsating. He hacked away at clumps of webbing blocking the passage with his hatchet. Fitz used a knife to saw through strands.
We have to be getting close.
Working together, they pushed through to an area with expansive windows that had once overlooked the surrounding medical center. Now those windows were mostly blotted with viny growths.
The stench of death grew stronger, bringing with it the telltale odor of rotten fruit.
His NVGs picked up what little light sifted through the windows, revealing a space choked in vines. Cubical walls and desks had been toppled, making space for dozens of cocoons where bodies rotted, their nutrients shuttled away by the vines snaking through the corpses.
Dohi breathed though his mouth, trying not to suck in the fetid odor, and continued past.
A flash of movement burst through a corridor ahead. He raised his fist, and counted at least five Variants, hunched. Most of them were feeding, but a few scanned the darkness for prey.
He signaled to the rest of Ghost. Fitz directed Ace and Rico to flank the Variants on the right side while he and Dohi took the left. Team Spearhead stayed behind with
