That beast lurking at the back of his mind told him to continue the killing. The attacks. Made him think driving his claws back into even the Hunters’ flesh would be a good thing.
But unlike the Moroccan civilians, his mind had been honed through years of training. Of a professionalism so deeply ingrained in him that he could hold back the monstrous part of him.
He rushed toward the Moroccan. Planted his claw on the prisoner’s chest. “Stop.”
The Hybrid snapped at him, eyes filled with rage. For a second, O’Neil though the man might actually be a Skull that had snuck in during the fighting.
“Stop.” O’Neil repeated. Then he placed both hands against the Hybrid’s shoulders.
The Hybrid tried to shrug his claws off. Tried to push past O’Neil.
Maybe…
O’Neil focused on that beach in Virginia. On sharing drinks with Van and Loeb. And even though it was before Tate was on his team, he pictured the younger operator there, too. All of them at home at home by the shore. At the place where sea, air, and land all met.
Thought about staring out at the ocean, knowing his own life was so small. That he was nothing but a drop of water in a sea of human life.
The Moroccan Hybrid lowered his claws. Stopped fighting to get past O’Neil.
“I am sorry,” he said in thickly accented English.
So it did work. The same chemicals that affected Skulls affected Hybrids.
The rage they had all felt during the battle, the anger that churned between them had an almost network-like effect.
And even though he had focused on calmness, he felt the embers of a fire reawakening. Not from the Hybrids in the warehouse around him.
But from outside. From the howls and shrieks he heard penetrating the base.
Skulls.
“Go gather weapons with the others,” O’Neil said finally to the Moroccan Hybrid. He gestured toward the other Hybrids already picking up rifles from the dead soldiers.
The alarms around the base grew in pitch and volume.
O’Neil turned to the two mercs that they’d saved. One was a woman missing an ear, the side of her face a mess of scars already. Red hair peeked out from below her helmet. The other was a thickly built man who had a ragged gash along his cheek, weeping blood.
“You okay?” O’Neil rasped to them.
“We are now,” the woman said. For a moment, she looked as though she might scream in terror at the sight of him. But whatever she might have been feeling inside, she shoved it away quickly, adopting an expression of cool professionalism. “You’re the Hybrids Dom said were coming for us.” Her green eyes gave O’Neil the elevator treatment, up and down. “You’re one of the SEALs.”
“Was,” O’Neil said. “Petty Officer Brendon O’Neil.”
“Meredith Webb,” the woman said. She looked at his claws. Must’ve thought better than shaking his hand.
“I am Andris Janson,” the man said. Didn’t seem an ounce frightened by O’Neil.
His accent sounded as though he had grown up in Eastern Europe. Maybe Northeastern Europe by the sound of it. What was this guy doing on the Hunters?
Even with O’Neil’s bony features, Andris must have seen the surprise on his face.
“Former French Foreign Legion,” Andris continued. “Latvian, but now one-hundred-percent with these guys.”
He gestured toward Miguel as the mercenary came toward them with the rest of his team.
“There are more Skulls out there,” O’Neil said. “More headed our way. And the Russians will send reinforcements.” He looked around at his men, at the Moroccans. Several of the prisoners had given their lives, their bodies riddled in cracked plates and bullet holes. “We may not survive whatever they throw at us next.”
“Understood,” Meredith said. “Miguel, we need to move out. To the pier. We have a mission to finish.”
A few of the Hunters fell into rear guard positions at the back of the pack. Andris and Meredith led, with O’Neil rushing along beside them.
“What’s your mission?” O’Neil said in a low voice as they cleared the exit to the warehouse. “Did you come just to rescue us? Because you’re a little late for that.”
Andris shot him a concerned look. O’Neil immediately hated the pity he saw in the hardened warrior’s expression. “Yes, we were sent to save you. But that is not all.”
They filtered through the shipping containers, stopping in the middle of the shipyard to regather. Spotlights continued to pour over the port. Sporadic gunshots sparked in the night. Skull shrieks and howls continued their demonic chorus.
O’Neil felt hunger and agitation drifting from the beasts.
“Should’ve saved your own asses while you had the chance,” O’Neil said, feeling the pain return to his body as the adrenaline wore away. “We might as well be dead.”
“But we are all here now,” Andris said. “And we have a common goal, yes? Now we must stop those freighters.”
O’Neil turned his eyes toward the waters and those three hulking ships with all their shipping containers. He didn’t know what was on those ships—and the Hunters didn’t seem to have any better idea. He did know if the Russians wanted to load them up and send them away from this port, they had to stop them.
But with a group of Hybrids and mercs, he wasn’t sure what in the hell they could do. “Did you have a plan?”
“Explosives,” Andris said. “I have enough to take out the propellers. These ships will never leave the harbor.”
“I see,” O’Neil said. All across the pier, he saw soldiers running between the ships. Others set up shooting positions. The Russians were gathering their forces, ready to stop this insurrection in its tracks. “It would be suicide for you to try planting something on those ships now. The bastards have forces all over the port aimed in our direction.”
“We could swim for it,” Spencer suggested.
O’Neil wasn’t surprised by the suggestion from a former SEAL.
“That’s a long way to swim,” Jenna said.
“And if we’re spotted…” Glenn shook his head. “Well, you know the old saying about fish and barrels.”
“Either we kill every last one of them in our way,” Miguel said, “or else somehow convince them to leave the docks.”
O’Neil figured he meant that as a sarcastic remark. But the merc might not be so off target. Maybe there was potential there. He tapped his chest with his claws. “You know why they did this to us, right?”
“Super soldiers,” Andris said.
O’Neil shook his head. “More than that.”
“On our last mission, we infiltrated another stronghold run by these people. They were running projects to develop devices to help control the Skulls… We’ve seen the Russian Hybrids in action. Do you have the same abilities they do?”
“If you’re asking if we can influence the Skulls like the Russians seem to do, yes, we may be able to manage that.”
“I do not believe any of this is possible,” Andris said. “How can this be?”
O’Neil tapped the side of his skull. “Pheromones, I think. They implanted some shit in our brains. If we focus, if we think the right thoughts, it does something. I can practically smell it. I’m no scientist—none of us are—so I can’t explain it any better than that, but we can make angry Skulls, well, less angry. I believe we can also get them to follow us or rile them up.” He paused. “You know how the Skulls tend to swarm?”
The mercs nodded.
“I don’t think it’s just them attracted to sound and prey. I can feel them right now. Their anger. Their hunger. They feed off each other. Like a crowd at a football game. Get one guy hyped up, and the people around him can’t help but cheer.”
He knew this because he felt it. Because in those moments of rage, even when they were in the cages in the lab, that energy poured through him. Anger, calmness, whatever, it was constantly pressing on him from the other Hybrids—the Russians included—and the Skulls beyond their cages. Beyond the port base’s walls.