Jacobs beckoned Beckham and Dohi to a computer monitor set up nearby. The view on the monitor showed the concealed CCTV camera inside the cell where their prisoner Chimera was already chained to a wall.
The guards secured Corrin and his shackles next to the prisoner. One kicked Corrin’s gut for good measure, and Corrin wheezed.
Beckham didn’t like it, and neither did Dohi, but he knew it would help sell the lie to the other Chimera that Corrin was loyal to the New Gods.
The guards left and locked the door. For a few minutes, Corrin huffed, catching his breath. The other Chimera stared at him.
“Heretics,” Corrin hissed, his voice crackling over the computer’s speakers.
“Vile creatures,” the other Chimera agreed. “How did they catch you?”
“A scouting party.”
“The Prophet sent others?”
“Yes, after your team went silent,” Corrin said. “He sent us to find out what happened. Evidently like you, we failed.”
The other Chimera let out a low roar. “These heretics will pay.”
“The Prophet knows that we’re here, and he knows that the president is here. He’ll help us seek revenge.”
“The Allied States president is here?” the Chimera said, all but confirming to Beckham that this was a recent revelation to the New Gods.
“Yes.”
Even through the computer monitor, Beckham could see the enemy Chimera salivating.
“When I break from these chains, I will slaughter the filthy heretics,” he said, snarling.
“We must first find a way to break the chains, but we would be wise to be careful.”
“Yes.”
“I overheard them talking about the Prophet and Los Alamos. They know more than we thought. Perhaps it’s best for us to find a way to free ourselves, then take the head of the president back with us on our own.”
The enemy prisoner tilted its own misshapen, scarred head.
This was their chance to find the true location of the New Gods, and if Corrin had blown it, then they would gain nothing from this Chimera.
“Los Alamos?” the Chimera said quietly.
Corrin nodded.
“You’re right. If we can kill her and return to the Prophet with such good news, we will be rewarded with all the flesh we can eat.”
Jacobs looked at Beckham. “Maybe this Chimera of yours isn’t so bad after all.”
“Elijah told me if I returned to him with the head of any member of Team Ghost or the generals here, I would be made a member of the Council,” Corrin said, reciting a lie he had prepared before.
“Elijah said that to you?” The Chimera sounded eager. “He made me similar promises. I was supposed to try and bring my trophies back alive.”
“Alive? Why?” Corrin asked.
“To serve us. And if they don’t do it willingly, they can join the ranks of the slaves and the Fallen.”
At Commander Jacobs’ command, one of the guards rapped on the cell door. “Shut your mouths before I crush your faces in!”
The theatrics seemed to help convince the Chimera he was talking to a fellow prisoner.
“The Prophet wants Reed Beckham and his family more than any of the others,” the enemy whispered.
Beckham froze.
“That son of a fucking bitch,” he whispered.
“I do not know what the Prophet wants with them, but it should be beautiful,” the Chimera said, nostrils flaring.
The conversation continued until Beckham and Dohi were satisfied. Now he had questions. He nodded, and Jacobs ordered the guards to intervene. Two of them opened the cell door and one slammed the stock of his rifle against the enemy Chimera’s mouth. The other kicked Corrin back.
A group of four more soldiers in riot gear rushed in to restrain him and make it look even more realistic.
“You’re going to your own separate cell, you piece of shit!” one of them yelled. “After I beat the hell out of you.”
The cell door slammed shut behind them, and the guards let go of Corrin. The Chimera joined Jacobs and Beckham, wiping blood from his fresh wounds.
“How did I do?” Corrin asked.
“Well done,” Beckham said. “But I have a question. What exactly are these Fallen?”
“I’m one of the Fallen,” Corrin said. “Scions—Chimeras—who haven’t been brainwashed into their cult. We’re the ones who they treat like slaves after they’ve turned us into these disgusting monsters.”
“And there are a hundred in Los Alamos?” Dohi asked.
“Sounds like it,” Corrin said. “I can’t confirm, because I was never at Los Alamos.”
“That Chimera said there were hundreds of human prisoners, too,” Jacobs said.
“I’m not surprised. We had plenty of prisoners in Seattle. Most eventually became food.”
Beckham tried not to picture his family, but he couldn’t help but imagine them as slaves. They had to do something to help those people, and maybe…
“What are you thinking, Captain?” Jacobs said.
“Nothing good, but this is giving me an idea. Something that could give us an advantage if we get the right people to carry it out.”
“Like us?” Dohi asked. “Ghost?”
“Like Team Ghost,” Beckham said. He turned to their Chimera ally. “And Corrin.”
***
Ringgold watched the sun rise over the Gulf of Mexico with Chief of Staff Soprano walking beside her. The view might have been partially blocked by the tall watchtowers overlooking the beach, and the rolls of razor wire gracing the tops of walls and fences, but she tried to find beauty in the hues of orange and red bleeding over the horizon.
This might be her last sunrise as the president of the Allied States. It might be the last sunrise over what remained of the free people of the Allied States.
Tomorrow morning was the deadline for her to submit to Azrael and his Land of the New Gods. Today would be filled with preparations for that fateful moment, when the forces of that monster descended on her to try and take what little they had left.
A group of Secret Service agents shadowed her as she and Soprano walked down the street. She headed toward a pier that had been built along the shore. A half-dozen sailing ships and yachts were docked there. Some had already launched to sea, fleeing from the upcoming battle, but more
