Dohi fought through the pain of his injuries, standing unsteadily. Corrin looked to be in equally bad shape, blood streaming from a bullet wound to the shoulder and another to his arm.
On the stage, Fitz was giving Rico mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. She had been in worse shape than Dohi thought.
“There’s no way you get out of here alive,” Corrin said.
“Perhaps not,” Elijah said. He paced in the narrow aisle, stalking and sizing Corrin and Dohi up like a lion examining its prey. “But I will take you with me.”
Howling, he lunged toward them, swinging his blades. Dohi parried the attack, nearly losing his grip on the sword from the tremendous force of Elijah’s strike. Corrin swung, but Elijah dodged out of the way and then struck back, splitting part of Corrin’s chest to reveal muscle and the white of his ribs.
“NO!” Dohi screamed.
He tried to thrust his blade into Elijah, but Elijah struck out with his other weapon. This time Dohi was too slow to deflect the blow. The blade cut into his thigh. He went down hard a few feet from Corrin.
Elijah stabbed Corrin through the chest, skewering him with a crunch. The smaller Chimera struggled, grasping at the blade with his claws, trying desperately to keep Elijah from pushing it deeper.
Grunting, Dohi forced himself upright with his blade in hand.
He swung the cutlass one last time, summoning every bit of power he had left in his battered body. Elijah tried to avoid it, but he had been too intent on killing Corrin.
The blade cut into the broken skull mask covering his face. Blood and flesh flew away with the shattered bone.
Elijah let go of the blade in Corrin’s chest, turning toward Dohi as he swung again with all his might. The blade cut into his neck, tearing through the flesh and cleaving bone until his head hung to the side by a few bits of stringy muscle.
Dohi kicked him backward into the broken seats. The Chimera tumbled over the side, his head snapping free and rolling away.
“Corrin,” Dohi said.
He crouched next to his friend, gasping for air.
“You did it,” Corrin croaked.
“We did it, brother,” Dohi said. He eyed the sword sticking through Corrin’s chest, trying to determine how best to remove it.
“It’s okay,” Corrin said, no doubt seeing the realization in Dohi’s eyes. “I’m ready for death.”
“No, you’re not going to die. I won’t lose another brother.”
“I died a long time ago, my friend. Fighting with you and Ghost was a great honor…”
Corrin blinked. “Don’t forget me, friend.”
“I won’t ever.”
His eyes locked with Dohi as his chest went still.
“Corrin,” Dohi said. “Corrin…”
He put a finger to his neck but there was no pulse. With a deep sigh, Dohi gently closed his friend’s eyelids, then pushed himself up.
Dohi staggered, his injured leg threatened to give out. Blood soiled his pants from the deep wound. He used the cutlass as a crutch to walk back to the stage where Fitz was still holding Rico in his arms.
“Corrin?” he asked.
“Gone,” Dohi said. “Is Rico okay?”
“She’s in shock, but she’s breathing. We have to get her out of here.”
“I’ll finish the masterminds,” Dohi said. He picked up a rifle and aimed at the beasts, but as soon as he brought up the weapon his vision blurred. He stumbled, then fell to one knee.
“Dohi!” Fitz shouted.
Dohi collapsed to his back, eyes on the web-covered ceiling. Fitz scrambled over.
“Dohi, stay with me,” Fitz said.
He tried his best, but his vision went dark, and in his mind’s eye, Dohi saw Ace, Lincoln, Mendez, Corrin, and the spirits of all the warriors lost over the years.
I knew I would see you again, brothers.
— 27 —
“Madam President, I have good news and bad news,” Souza said.
“Good news, first,” Ringgold replied.
“We just got word from Ghost. Los Alamos is now under our control.” He put down the radio, but he didn’t smile. “Unfortunately, the Prophet was not there… he’s here in Galveston.”
“What?” She tightened the strap of her rifle, then felt the bulge under her jacket where her M9 was tucked into her waistband for reassurance.
The command staff on the balcony of the watchtower platform all looked over, and the three Secret Service agents on the platform shot Ringgold nervous glances.
“Doctor Lovato was taken hostage by him, but the Prophet fled when Captain Beckham arrived,” Souza said. “Captain Beckham is now hunting the Prophet with Master Sergeant Horn.”
“Beckham will take him down,” Ringgold said, ready to breathe a sigh of relief.
“I hope so,” Souza said. “Doctor Lovato warned us that the Prophet is coming for you.”
“Good thing we have two of our best soldiers hunting him,” Ringgold replied. She looked out over the watchtower platform at the Harbor House Hotel. The rain had stopped. All the enemy choppers had been taken out, but there were still thousands of enemy forces out there.
Columns of oily smoke snaked into the air across the base. Constant gunfire and the thuds of explosions resonated from every direction between screams of pain and shrieks from hunting beasts.
Cornelius walked over with his M4A1 cradled over his chest. “We’re getting reports of more breaches along the eastern and western walls.”
He looked out over the eastern part of the base. “Don’t worry, Madam President. We will hold them.”
Soprano rushed over with another handheld radio. “I’m hearing that Variants are invading some of the civilian shelters on the southern part of downtown.”
Ringgold felt a wave of sickness. “Is there anything we can send to help them?”
Cornelius looked out over the raging fires and flashes of gunfire to the west. “We can pull a few teams away from the walls.”
“Make it happen,” Ringgold said.
Cornelius nodded at one of his men.
Another explosion bloomed just a block away to their south. Flames roared up the side of a former hotel. The tongues of fire illuminated nearly twenty Variants and juveniles galloping down the street. A massive Alpha heaved the charcoaled husk of a car toward a group of soldiers
