Beyond the fallen fence and mud was the golf course that had been turned into a farm. Dense weeds covered it as neglected crops rotted away. Stalks of corn wilted, leaning or folded over. Insects had chewed through much of what hadn’t already died.
Timothy listened for popping joints over the rustle of the vegetation in the breeze.
Horn signaled the path was clear, then took them between the rows of bad produce. A clubhouse loomed at the other end of the field.
Razor wire still topped the roof, along with a couple of empty machine gun nests. The tunnel was supposed to be on the other side of the structure.
Already Timothy could smell the webbing. At least, he hoped it was just the webbing. The odor of decay and death drifted on the breeze as they approached.
They walked cautiously in combat intervals. Horn was the first to get there. He checked the windows, then flashed a signal to move around the building.
Timothy walked at a hunch, following the wall of the clubhouse to a parking lot with six abandoned cars and trucks. Even with his NVGs, he could pick up the glint of moonlight reflecting off the hundreds of bullet casings scattered over the lot.
A major battle had gone down here, and Timothy wondered if any of the two-hundred colonists had survived.
Horn skirted between the vehicles, using them as cover. He waved for Timothy but motioned for Boyd to stay.
Timothy followed, keeping closer now as they approached the rancid odor drifting from the hole. The stench grew so intense it made his eyes water. He fought through it until he reached the lip of the hole.
A glance down revealed the same disgusting sight of red webbing crawling over the walls like tentacles from some earthen kraken. Despite the smell, no creatures emerged from the darkness.
Horn looked back toward the clubhouse and waved for Boyd.
But Boyd was nowhere in sight.
“Where the hell is he?” Horn muttered.
Timothy searched for their comrade, but didn’t see him now either. His heart thumped wildly. Not only was he injured, but Boyd carried the anthrax that was crucial to their mission.
Horn motioned for Timothy and they started to backtrack toward the clubhouse, keeping low.
They were losing time so long as Boyd was missing. They needed to hurry and deploy the anthrax, then make it back to the Humvee so they could return in time to help defend Galveston by sunrise.
A sudden pop of gunfire shattered the eerie quiet.
Timothy flinched at a throaty yell. Boyd.
A Variant answered with a piercing howl that sounded like it was no more than a few hundred yards away.
Timothy tightened his grip on his rifle and searched for the target amid the tall vegetation, his jaw clenched. As he and Horn advanced, Timothy realized he didn’t feel a single hint of fear.
Just anger.
He was so damn sick and tired of the beasts killing his friends. It was his turn to bring fear to the enemy.
***
The drone of the modified Beechcraft King Air 90 filled the spartan cabin as the craft passed over New Mexico.
Despite the cramped confines of the small aircraft, it felt empty to Fitz. Lincoln, Ace, and Mendez were gone, as were so many other former members of Team Ghost.
Fitz couldn’t help but think of Apollo, too. He would have done anything to have the dog with him now. But at least he had Rico and Dohi. Plus, the newest and strangest addition to their team, Corrin, who was shaping up to be their biggest asset.
He felt a twinge of guilt for not being back at Galveston, defending the island with his friends Beckham, Horn, Kate, and Timothy. The troops at Galveston were as prepared as they could be, but Fitz feared they wouldn’t be able to stop the imminent assault.
If the science team and the intel that Corrin had squeezed from their imprisoned Chimera was right, then all hope lay on Team Ghost and taking out the Prophet.
The success of this mission would be like a knife jab into the side of the New Gods, finally killing their leader and liberating hundreds of prisoners in one fell swoop.
He had no illusions that this mission alone would end the war, though. The New Gods were likely already positioning themselves around Texas, and the First Fleet was on a collision course with the Texas beachside base, carrying an army of the abominations.
Even if their mission in Los Alamos ended in victory, would he still have a country to return home to?
All it takes is all you got. Fitz looked at the others, noting their determined expressions. And we still got a lot.
A voice came over the speakers in the cabin. “Five minutes until drop.”
It was Liam Tremblay, the brave Canadian who was one of the few civilians willing to fly out over enemy territory. Fitz felt a little better having the man that Beckham had personally recommended for their HALO drop into Los Alamos.
“This is it, Ghost,” Fitz said to the others, talking loudly to be heard over the hum of the engine noise.
Dohi looked up from sharpening his knife.
“Tonight, we jump into what could be the most important mission of our lives,” Fitz said. “And I couldn’t be prouder to do it with you.”
Rico smiled and Dohi nodded, but Corrin simply looked at the deck.
“I’m talking to you too, Corrin,” Fitz said. “Never thought we’d have a Chimera on our team. But you saved our asses in Seattle, came through for us in Vegas, and you’re our key to success on this mission.”
“You’re one of us now,” Dohi said.
Rico smiled, but Fitz could tell it was forced. She hadn’t seen what Corrin was capable of yet. Soon she would be a believer.
“I will do anything to destroy the people who took everything from me,” Corrin said in a raspy voice. “I’m with you, my friends. Thank you for placing your faith in me.”
Dohi held up his knife. “Tonight the Prophet will take his last breath,
