From each of those smaller vessels, men and monsters jumped over the sides. Ringgold tried to keep track of the dozens upon dozens of creatures pouring off the boats and through the shallows.
Tracer fire lanced from the walls. Low thuds resonated over the beach from grenades and mines. Geysers of sand, fire, and shredded body parts spewed into the air.
A few helicopters they had on reserve made passes over the beach, spitting gunfire and launching rockets into the enemies stampeding over the sand.
Collaborators returned fire with their own rockets. One streaked into a Black Hawk, erupting in a flash of light. The pilots managed to put the damaged bird down on the beach, but a pack of Variants were on them before they could escape the wreckage.
“We’ve got more incoming,” Cornelius said, pointing at the George Johnson.
While flames danced from the superstructure, a stream of smaller shapes flung themselves over the side into the water. Others raced down the ladders tracing the hull, leaping into rigid-hulled inflatable boats, lifeboats, and some of the other small craft nearby.
“There must be hundreds of creatures and collaborators on that ship,” Cornelius said.
Ringgold roved her binos over the enemy soldiers, spotting squads of heavily armed Chimeras with their cutlasses.
“Madam President, seismic activity indicates the rest of the New Gods’ land forces are poised to cross the bridge in less than two minutes,” the comms officer said. “Recon Sigma is on the bridge now.”
She turned her binos back to the bay. A lone Humvee raced across the long bridge. Only about five-hundred yards behind them, the first rush of monsters followed, galloping across the asphalt.
“Blow the bridges as soon as Sigma is across,” she said.
A moment later, explosions ripped down the bridge, red and orange balls of fire devouring the pillars holding it above the bay. Concrete gave way, falling in chunks, and almost as if in slow motion, the bridge began to collapse. Variants flailed as they plummeted with the debris.
Soprano rushed back up the stairs to the platform, chest heaving.
“You have good news?” Ringgold asked.
Souza and Cornelius both looked at Soprano.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “The Canadian and Mexican forces are still hours from arrival. We’re on our own for now.”
Ringgold felt her stomach churn. The enemy had arrived by sea, air, and land. She had done everything she could to prepare, but still it felt like it was not enough. The only thing left to do was fight.
Raising her rifle to her shoulder, she readied herself for battle.
***
Gunfire cracked across Los Alamos.
Keeping low, Fitz advanced up a narrow street between two laboratory buildings, headed north with Team Ghost and a small army of Chimeras and humans. It had been hell fighting through the streets and doing their best to stay concealed from the few guards left around the base.
But they had unexpected help keeping the guards occupied.
While most of the prisoners had followed them, a few distrusting Chimeras and scared human prisoners had run off. Those fleeing prisoners were enough to draw many of the remaining enemy guards away. That distraction had helped Ghost, but it was a terrible choice for the prisoners.
Screams rang out, some of them human as the monsters found them.
“Should’ve stayed with us,” Fitz said.
“They chose their own deaths,” Dohi said.
Fitz tried to understand the callous words. This was not the Dohi he knew—the Dohi who would do anything to save another person. But Fitz understood how trauma and PTSD could turn a good heart black.
That kind of trauma could not be dealt with now. Instead he focused back on the mission and took shelter behind a truck to sneak a glimpse at an intersection to the east. A friendly Chimera had confirmed that just a few blocks in that direction was the command center for the New Gods.
Fitz surveyed the building. Camouflage netting covered two machine gun nests and maybe a little over ten Chimeras perched along the roof. Collaborators were entrenched behind sandbags and aiming out of windows.
Prowling Thrall Variants screeched and howled in the street. The smell of blood and sound of battle had them riled up. The only thing holding them back were the collars around their necks.
Fitz turned to his team, telling them what he had seen.
“We’ve got the numbers,” Dohi said. “Nearly thirty Fallen Chimeras still with us, and thirty human prisoners strong enough to fight.”
“But less than half have firearms,” Rico said.
Corrin clicked his claws together. “But we have weapons.”
“Still, it’s suicide running headlong into that command building,” Rico said.
Fitz listened between a few more distant gunshots and the rattle of machine guns.
“If we don’t do something quickly, they’ll finish off the last of the fleeing prisoners, then find us,” Fitz said. “The only reason we’re still alive is because they sent damn near everything they had to Galveston.”
All they needed to do was get to the Prophet, assuming he was even here. The command building was so close, but trying to sneak in with this army would not work.
Fitz signaled to the Chimera that had told them about the command center. The filthy half-man hunched down, reeking of body odor and festering wounds.
“The front western entrance to this place is well-guarded,” Fitz said. “What’s our best alternative?”
“There’s a couple of secured doors on the north and south sides,” the Chimera replied.
“Those machine guns will cut us down before we can get close enough to get inside,” Rico said.
“What about tunnels?” Fitz asked. “The throne room was covered in webbing. We know the network goes inside.”
The Chimera looked uncertain. “I don’t know.”
“I do,” Esparza said. She was the first prisoner Dohi had released and was the strongest of the freed humans. “They forced me down there a few days ago to find soldiers who could join their ranks.”
“Do you think you could get us to that tunnel?” Fitz asked.
Esparza nodded.
“We can’t
