Summer couldn’t help but think Edison had designed the approach on purpose to slow visitors down—a fact that was working against them at the moment. Sure, their emergency had to do with prisoners and an injured dog—not an indispensable Seeker or security guard—but it didn’t change the need to arrive sooner.
The truck dipped through a sharp depression, then jerked up, sending her airborne. Her head hit the steel framework holding the canopy above her, then gravity took over and sent her back down in a plop.
Summer rubbed her head, then turned to check on the dog.
Barkley looked okay, but she couldn’t say the same for the others in the back. The same airborne whiplash effect had sent the blindfolded prisoners into a tumble, their hands still bound behind their backs with paracord. They were now leaning over on their sides and struggling to right themselves.
Horton craned his neck and used the crown of his head to push against Lipton’s butt, pushing himself into a sitting position.
Scab Girl was able to accomplish the same feat without any external leverage, probably due to her abdomen being in better shape than the men’s. It was obvious—Helena had skills, just not a nose. Or a comb.
Doc Lipton, on the other hand, looked helpless. Or hopeless, the two terms being interchangeable at the moment. It was comical to watch him struggle, his old man’s body useless.
Summer thought about helping the man sit up, but decided against it. He didn’t deserve assistance, not after pulling a gun and threatening to shoot everyone.
Whether Lipton would have pulled the trigger or not didn’t change the fact he was a threat, no matter what the other two had said in his defense after they were in custody.
There was something about the man she despised, even though she barely knew him. Some people just rub you the wrong way, and it wasn’t only because of him pulling a gun.
He had an aura that made her skin crawl. It felt black. Malicious. Like some kind of oozing darkness, as if he were hiding a terrible secret. Probably more than one, if she chose to listen to what her gut was telling her. It was a strange sensation, one that made the hairs on her neck stand on end every time she looked at him.
She shook off the feeling, then rubbed the dog’s matted fur, appreciating the perfectly timed chomp that Sergeant Barkley had applied to Lipton’s wrist.
“Good boy,” she said before laughing at Lipton, who was still tussling with himself to sit up.
Dice turned the steering wheel to the right and drove the four-wheel-drive truck up the slight incline, feathering the accelerator to control the vehicle’s slow crawl forward.
He stopped the truck within inches of the front gate protecting Frost’s compound. The fortified steel barrier was in the process of opening, its mechanical retraction system grinding away on the chain-driven gears built by the one and only Doc Lipton.
The armed guards on watch seemed unaware that one member of their command team was missing—Simon Frost.
Perhaps they were focused on detecting a tail, as they should be, and hadn’t taken a visual head count. He could understand that failure given the circumstances, though it remained a tactical mistake. Head counts are important. So are facial recognition steps, neither security measure having been applied thus far.
Yet what was the most troubling was the fact that they hadn’t noticed the rest of the convoy was missing, too—both men and machine. It was a simple calculation, even for the dumbest of Frost’s recruits. Far more flesh and steel had departed than what was returning now.
Dice swung his head to the right, checking to see if Fletcher was concerned. It didn’t appear so, his eyes tracking the gate’s progress with an otherwise blank expression on his face.
“Everything okay, boss?” Dice asked, just to be sure.
“Lipton better be back from wherever the hell he disappeared to. First order of business for him will be to double the speed of this gate. We’re sitting ducks out here.”
“I’ll get him right on it, sir.”
“Before that, I want the men assembled in the garage. Word will spread quickly about the missing troops.”
“Have you thought about what you’re going to say?”
“Working on it. Just sifting through the words at the moment. They need to be right.”
“I have every confidence.”
“Thanks, Dice. That makes one of us, at least.”
“Trust me sir, the men respect you. Hands down. It’s not even a question.”
“I appreciate the support. But I’m more worried about the few stragglers who are still loyal to Frost. I had them all assigned to cover the monthly meet, but as usual, Simon overruled me and made last-minute deployment changes. Kept a few back for some reason.”
“Obviously he didn’t suspect anything.”
“No. Otherwise, we’d be having a very different conversation right about now.”
“The men may want to hold a vigil. You know, raise a glass type thing.”
“That’s fine, just make sure it doesn’t get out of hand like last night. As soon as it’s over, I want Lipton’s still dismantled. No more moonshine. We’re going to tighten up the ranks around here. Especially for Phase Two.”
“Yes, sir.”
CHAPTER 5
Krista drove the transport through the entrance of the barn, easing the vehicle past the dual doors that served as both a prop and as a sentry to protect access to the oversized structure.
The command vehicle’s assigned parking spot was far to one side, leaving room for the rest of the convoy to park next to it, much like a platoon lining up for morning PT.
However, the other trucks wouldn’t be making an appearance today. Neither would the rest of her men, a fact that brought a wave of pain to her heart.
The simple task of parking the transport allowed her time to focus on the events of the day. Or take inventory, if you will, of her actions and reactions, even though, as a soldier, she knew better than to dwell on the past, unless you’re being debriefed or filing an after-action report with your superiors.
A brigade of shadows stood inside Edison’s makeshift command post, waiting with ravenous eyes. Eyes that were backed by something far more powerful than time or space.
Whether it was fate or destiny, she couldn’t be sure. But it was real. It was there. She could sense it. Something was judging her every move as she maneuvered the tires across the existing tracks in the dirt, angling to the side as she went.
When a cascade of darkness landed on the windshield, a tingling sensation came with it. It washed over her skin, wafting a cold dampness across her hands.
The chill traveled up her arms and into her neck, as if it was being guided to its target by an unseen adversary. She’d felt the same sensation long ago, back when she was deployed in an active combat zone.
Even watercraft operators experience casualties, usually after the bullets have flown and the boat is tasked to retrieve the wounded.
Many of the troops survive, but some don’t, leaving the pilot and her crew to deal with the aftermath. An aftermath involving scrubbing blood off the deck, as well as confronting the ghosts of the dead.
Let’s face it, once you’ve become intimately acquainted with the reaper, you have no choice but to challenge its malignancy head-on—for your sanity, if nothing else.
First you stand your ground to repel its attack. Then, after it pulls back to regroup, you sweep the area, targeting all vectors. Vectors that come in the form of intentions—malevolent intentions—lingering high above, waiting to deliver grief with the precision of a tactical drone.