“You’re right, but in the meantime, I’m afraid we have a refugee crisis. Lieutenant Festa has been coordinating our evacuation operations, so I’ll let him continue.”
Festa took a deep breath, his chest rising. “As more outposts fall, we’re approaching the limit on how many refugees we can fit safely in our surviving bases. Everywhere from Outpost Pensacola to Houston are bursting at the seams with incoming refugees. Unfortunately, it’s not just a space issue, but also one of resources.”
“Organizing resupply lines is becoming almost unmanageable,” Souza said. “We’re having trouble both securing them and rerouting them as each outpost falls.”
“Not only that, but every time we try to relocate people, we’re expending fuel, ammunition to secure them, and vehicles that would be useful on the frontlines,” Festa said. “Simply put, trying to evacuate people and find them new places that are safe is becoming a losing proposition.”
“That’s why I need you to ensure Puerto Rico is a safe haven,” Ringgold said. “Not just for command, but also for the people of the Allied States. My hope is that we can start sending refugees down there. That way, people will not have to keep moving from outpost to outpost.”
“I can start reallocating a few of my private military’s planes to help with the evacuation, but we’re going to need a place to land,” Cornelius said.
“Understood,” Lemke said. “How many people are you looking at relocating down here?”
“We have at least forty-thousand people that we’re trying to find a secure location for in the immediate future, but if we fail to take back the states…” Festa let his words trail off.
“We won’t fail,” Ringgold said.
“Ma’am, I hate to say it, but we’re losing the war. We need to consider the possibility of losing the country,” Souza said. “We may need to evacuate every soul.”
The entire room was silent.
“We’re not retreating yet,” Ringgold said. “There’s plenty of fight left in us.”
“Indeed.” Cornelius stood. “Don’t forget where you are, General Souza. Texans don’t know how to retreat.”
— 3 —
Master Sergeant Joe “Fitz” Fitzpatrick crouched between two pine trees outside the town of Banff, Canada. He was cold, tired, and he missed Rico more than ever before.
His emotions were getting the best of him today, and his prosthetic blades didn’t help. Each step, he slipped in the white fluff. He felt like he was shoveling a pile of snow with the blades. Because of the effort it took to walk, the shirts and pants under his outerwear were soaked in sweat despite the cold.
Even the oldest member of their team, Corporal Bobby Ace, seemed to be moving faster.
Sergeant Yas Dohi was ahead of both of them. All three men used night vision goggles and walked with their rifles at the ready. The delicate swirl of falling snow in the green hue gave the cold night a sense of quiet serenity. That peacefulness belied the reason for Team Ghost’s mission tonight. They were tracking one of the deadliest Variants of the north. A giant beast that the Canadians called a bear had been spotted lurking outside Banff.
When the scouts who spotted the creature had lost track of it in the mountains just southwest of the Fairmont hotel serving as Banff’s command center, General Kamer recruited Team Ghost to do what they did best: track down a monster. About ten yards south and parallel to their position was a four-person squad of Canadian special forces nicknamed Team Spearhead. Fitz was glad to have them along. They had joined primarily for support and education, staying within a dozen yards in case Ghost needed backup.
Fitz sucked in a deep breath. His ribs still ached from the injuries he had sustained in Seattle, but his muscles had recovered some. A little rest and medical attention had gone a long way for him and Ace.
But memories of the deranged Doctor Lloyd brutalizing them haunted him every time he closed his eyes. As tortured as he was by those memories, he could not help worrying about Rico. How was she doing in Texas? And when would he get to see her again? Team Ghost felt emptier without her by his side.
He shook those thoughts away.
Now he needed to focus.
Fitz flipped up his night vision goggles and peered into his scope, surveying the spindly trees ahead. “Contacts?”
“Negative,” Dohi whispered.
Sergeant Lucas Neilson shook his head as he led his squad closer to Ghost. “Damn thing disappeared.”
Fitz gave Dohi the signal to advance. They followed the massive footprints left behind in the snow from the huge bear.
As much as he disliked being cooped up in the stuffy hotel, he didn’t like leaving their prisoner, the Chimera named Corrin, back in his makeshift prison cell alone. After all they had gone through, Fitz preferred that he or someone on his team kept watch over him at all times.
Dohi held up his fist, and Fitz paused, bringing up his rifle once more.
“I see another set of tracks,” Dohi said. “Must be two of them.”
“You’re sure?” Fitz asked. The thought of another massive beast made him pause.
“Yeah,” Dohi said. “In fact, there might be more than two. But the falling snow isn’t helping. It’s covering their trail, making it difficult to tell.”
Fitz hesitated for a few seconds. The threat to their teams just increased two-fold, but it also put the base at risk. He radioed the new information to the lead of Spearhead and then motioned to keep moving.
Dohi stalked the trail between the trees. A freezing wind howled overhead, shaking loose snow from the branches. The resulting rattle sounded like bones knocking together.
The further they delved into the woods, the more Fitz felt like he could feel the eyes of predators watching them. The tracks they followed were not fresh. They led down from the mountain, into a valley, heading northwest toward the Bow River. Dohi had estimated the beasts had been through likely a few hours ago, and they had a
