“When will they arrive?” Kate asked.
“A few planes will arrive in the middle of the night.” She paused. “Unfortunately, they’re just as low on vehicles, fuel, and ammunition as us. Most of their troops aren’t estimated to make it until approximately 0800 hours tomorrow.”
“That might be too late,” Fitz said.
“We must hold out as long as possible for their arrival. It’s up to all of you to make that happen. Any more questions?”
The group remained silent.
Ringgold stood. “Good. We all have work to do. Let’s go make what’s left of our country and those who have made the ultimate sacrifice proud.”
— 21 —
“So it begins,” Horn said.
Timothy sat in the passenger seat of the Humvee that Master Sergeant Horn drove using a pair of NVGs to navigate the wreckage outside of Outpost Houston. They were on their way to a northwest suburb. Their mission was to deploy the anthrax-containing syringe on one of the Alpha holes identified by a recon team.
“You get some time with your girls and the dogs?” Timothy asked.
“Yeah, but never enough,” Horn said. “How was that walk? You stayed out in public, right?”
Before Timothy answered, Horn spoke again.
“I was watching, so I’ll know if you’re lying to me.”
Timothy felt his face warm and fingered the bracelet Tasha had given him as he considered his response. He wasn’t sure how to answer that one without getting a dressing down if Horn was telling the truth.
But he had a feeling Horn wasn’t here to bust his balls. The guy was probably here because Beckham had sent him to watch out for him.
They weren’t alone, thankfully, not that Boyd could do much to help if Horn did want to kick Timothy in the ass.
The injured solider sat in the back of the SUV. He wore a cast from the hairline fractures in his wrist, and Timothy knew the man was in a lot of pain, but Boyd had insisted that he come along.
The three of them made up one of the fifteen teams that were assigned to inject the anthrax bacteria the science team had prepared.
“No answer?” Horn said. “Probably for the best. It’s good that I like you.”
“I’m thankful for that, Master Sergeant.”
“Call me Horn, Big Horn, but not Master Sergeant, sir, or future dad-in-law.” He directed his NVGs at Timothy.
Dad-in-law?
Timothy was at a loss for words again, but then Horn gave him a big shit-eating grin.
“I’m fucking with you, man,” Horn said. Then his face grew serious again. “Except for the dad-in-law part. Don’t be getting any big ideas too soon.”
“Okay.” Timothy gripped his rifle, trying to pay attention to the road too, since Horn seemed to be more interested in chitchat.
“Don’t tell him I told you, but Beckham wanted to be here too,” Horn said. “Unfortunately, he got stuck on wall duty.”
“Good for morale,” Boyd said. “Hell, even before I met the guy, I heard stories.”
“Was I in them?” Horn asked.
“The big ginger oaf who could squeeze the life out of a Variant?” Boyd asked. “Of course, brother. Team Ghost was—and is—a legend.”
“‘Big ginger oaf’ better mean the motherfucking, ass-kicking mountain machine,” Horn said.
“Right, that’s exactly what I meant,” Boyd said.
Timothy chuckled and watched the highway. It was devoid of life, filled with vehicles left to rot on the cracked asphalt.
All the good humor they had shared quickly evaporated as they drew closer to their target. In the green hue of his optics, Timothy spotted desiccated skeletal forms lying against the side of the highway.
“Stay frosty,” Horn said.
He took an offramp and guided the Humvee down a road framed with large trees and overgrown weeds. He had to slow the vehicle as they thumped over debris in the street.
Ahead, vacant apartment buildings loomed against the star-studded sky. Images of the slaughter in Vegas flashed through Timothy’s mind. The broken windows and rotting balconies would be perfect places for collaborators or Chimeras to set an ambush.
He steeled himself, studying their surroundings for any sign of motion.
The fear creeping into him now could not hold him back from their mission. Kate had told him that what they were doing could change the tide of the battle when the New Gods launched their attack.
They had to succeed at all costs.
Horn drove past the apartments to a tree-filled neighborhood full of houses. Then he braked to a stop.
“We’re almost there, and we’re going to hoof it the rest of the way,” he said. “Once we’re out, it’s radio silence and quiet. You got that, boys?”
“Yes, Master…” Timothy said. “I mean, Horn.”
“Got it,” Boyd said.
“And Boyd, you got the anthrax, right?” Horn asked.
Boyd patted his pack. “Ready to inject a little pain into that shit.”
“Good. Let’s roll.”
They jumped out of the Humvee, and Horn took point with his M249.
Wind howled over the tall grass. Leaves rustled everywhere Timothy directed his suppressed M4A1. He sniffed the air, trying to detect a hint of the rotten fruit odor from a Variant.
So far, there was nothing. No howls, no claws tapping on the asphalt, no growls.
If he remembered correctly, they just needed to head northwest to a small colony that had been set up in a Houston suburb called The Woodlands. The community had a few nearby parks along with an old golf course that had been turned into a farming operation.
Horn took them toward the remnants of a fence that had once surrounded the safe-zone. Most of the wooden panels and stakes had been torn apart, broken by attacking Variants.
Timothy followed, stepping over a segment of the fallen fence, trying not to cause any noise. His boots landed in mud on the other side with a soft squelch, and he froze, waiting for a reaction.
Horn kept moving between thickets of trees and weeds that rose to shoulder height. The thought of a Variant rocketing toward him beneath the cover of the foliage circled his mind.
He tried to ignore it.
All he could do was keep his
