“And you smell like a garbage can,” Ruckley said, her voice coming out in nearly a croak. She cleared her throat. “I keep having nightmares about ugly monsters, then I wake and see something even worse.”
She looked at Beckham. “Not you, Captain.”
Horn laughed. “Us ugly people got to stick together, that’s why I came to see your mug.”
“You do smell,” Beckham admitted.
“You kidding?” Horn asked. “I showered. The girls made me do it, too. They said I was stinking up the whole shelter.”
Ruckley smiled, but it turned to a grimace.
“How are you feeling?” Beckham asked. “The doctors told us you’d been struggling when you first got back.”
“Exhausted now, but I’ve dealt with worse. I’ll get out of this bed soon. I’m not going to let you guys go back out there without me.”
“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Beckham said.
Ruckley gave him a glance that flitted from his prosthetics to his face. He knew what she was thinking, but she respected him enough not to say anything.
He held up his partially melted prosthetic hand with his other hand defensively. “All right, just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Then he felt the smile fade, and he leaned in toward the hospital bed. “In seriousness, I also came to thank you.”
“For what?”
“You helped keep Timothy safe,” Beckham said.
“And he helped keep me safe.”
“He’s a good kid.”
Ruckley nodded. “He’s a man now, don’t forget that.”
“You’re right,” Beckham said.
“Damn straight,” Horn added, grinning. “Anyone who goes into battle as many times as Timothy has is a real man, and a brave one at that.” His smile faded, and he patted the handrail alongside the bed. “You know, you scared the shit out of me. And that’s not an easy thing to do.”
“What do you mean?” Ruckley asked.
“We’ve lost too many good people,” Horn said.
Beckham heard an unusual slight crack in Horn’s voice.
“I was worried you were going to be one of ’em, and frankly…” he looked at Beckham, his freckled face turning a bright red.
Realization set in, and Beckham held back a smile.
My god, Big Horn actually likes a woman, he thought.
Horn had never even laid eyes on the opposite sex over the past eight years since he lost his wife during the fall of Fort Bragg, but Beckham had always encouraged him to find love again.
That was the last thing he had expected to happen in the thick of the new war.
“I was worried you weren’t going to make it,” Horn said after the long pause.
“Don’t worry, bub,” Ruckley said. “It’s going to take more than a crumbling casino to kill me.”
“I’m just glad to see you back to your old self,” Beckham said. He started to stand, checking his watch. “I’ve got to talk to Commander Jacobs and Corrin. Big Horn, buddy, why don’t you stay here?”
Horn shrugged.
“Yeah, keep me company,” Ruckley said. “Long as you don’t get too close.”
“I really smell that bad?”
“Yeah,” Beckham said with a grin. “Yeah, you do.”
“Hey, Captain,” Ruckley said.
Beckham paused and turned toward her.
“I promise, even if the doctors don’t like it, I’m getting out of this bed to join the fight before they come,” she said. “I can’t sit here while people die for me out there.”
Beckham opened his mouth to speak, but Ruckley cut him off.
“Don’t try to convince me otherwise. I’d rather die in the battlefield defending this country than in a damn hospital bed.”
With that, Beckham left the hospital and headed back out toward the street. Crowds of civilians walked in large clumps as soldiers ushered them to shelters. Many were new arrivals, people who had fled the fallen outposts, somehow managing to make it here with their lives.
Beckham couldn’t help thinking how many people were still out there in this country, fighting for survival like Ruckley and Timothy had. They deserved help just as much as anyone inside these walls.
He shook the thoughts aside as he entered a former history museum that now served as Jacobs’ headquarters on Galveston. Stairs took him down to a floor filled with what had once been expensive jewelry ranging from near prehistoric times to the modern era. Beyond the glitter of the jewels and gold was another room guarded by six men.
Commander Jacobs stood outside of it talking to Dohi.
Corrin stood behind them, his hands shackled.
“You don’t need to put this guy in cuffs,” Dohi said. “He’s not an animal.”
“We’re taking a big risk parading him around already,” Jacobs replied. “I trust you, but I trust those shackles more.”
“If Ace were here…” Dohi’s voice trailed off as Beckham approached.
The burn scars across Jacobs’ face glistened in the intense overhead lights.
“Captain Beckham, we’re just about to begin our test,” he said.
Beckham glanced at Corrin. The Chimera was quiet, but he wore a scowl.
“Maybe Dohi’s right,” Beckham said. “The shackles might be too much.”
“If we want this charade to seem real to the Chimera we have locked in here, we’ve got to treat him like the other beast,” Jacobs said.
He indicated the door to the vault. Where the museum curators had once stored valuable artwork and historical artifacts, Jacobs’ men now kept the Chimera prisoner that Beckham had captured outside of Houston.
The plan was simple. They would lock Corrin in the cell with the other beast, and Corrin would hopefully get them some much needed intel.
“Remember, we need confirmation of where the Prophet is, any verification that the science team is right about Los Alamos,” Beckham said to Corrin. “If there’s any intel we can get about that site or the New Gods’ forces, it might be helpful to our cause.”
Corrin nodded.
“You backstab us, I will drive my own knife straight into your skull,” Jacobs said.
“And I would welcome it,” Corrin replied.
“Just get this over with,” Dohi said.
Jacobs glared at the Chimera. “Team Ghost speaks highly of you. I still can’t decide if they’re crazy, but I hope you prove them right.” Then he gestured at the guards. “Take him away.”
The six guards grabbed Corrin roughly. He struggled
