“Well, where are they?” Paco demands.
It is Marie who answers. “Their Changer says they’re camped about half a dozen miles due north of us. My own scouts haven’t been able to get their exact location, but we can confirm it if you give us three days.”
I see the shadow of Paco shaking his head and pointing at the radio technician. “I’m not giving it three days. Tell them we want amnesty now. Bava is breathing down our necks and we can’t hide out here for much longer. Gift Horse is six miles north of our position, but they plan on moving soon. Send a full strike team. We’ll give them the location, but then we’re coming in. Today.”
Gift Horse, I realize, is my own platoon. I am sweating now, trembling from head to foot. The implications are obvious; this isn’t a friendly strike force at all. This is an organized desertion. They’ve stolen supplies and motorbikes, and taken a huge core of Bava’s defense militia, and are going over to the other side.
The price of their amnesty, it seems, is the location of my platoon.
And I’ve given it to them.
I am a wreck now. This is something worse than the heat of battle, worse than flying on Benny’s wing. This is betrayal. It takes every instinct—and the reminder that Marie is also a Changer—not to barge into the command tent and try to kill them all where they stand.
These deserters—these traitors—would take me down eventually. There are simply too many for me to fight. But I wonder if it would be better to die now, cutting out their heart, than to allow myself to live knowing of this planned betrayal.
I try to come up with some kind of rationale, but I am unable to think through my rising panic. There is no excuse for this.
I listen, my limbs frozen, unable to will myself into any sort of action as the radio technician relays the message. There is a pregnant pause afterward, and then the technician says to Paco, “They say they’ll take care of Gift Horse at first light.”
“Our approach?”
“It’s been cleared,” the technician says.
Paco claps his hands. “Yes! You see that, Marie?” I see his shadow reach across and slap Marie on the shoulder. “We’re in.”
“So it’s done, then?” she asks in a flat voice. I can tell that she is not happy about the betrayal, but it is a distant consideration in the back of my head. At this moment I want nothing more than to gut everyone in that tent.
“It’ll be done this afternoon,” Paco responds. “Smile, damn it! Get me something to toast with. No, wait. We’ll toast at the air base. Get everyone up and ready to move.”
I am surprised by the sudden instruction, scrambling to my feet and looking for the way back to my tent. I can hear the creak of Marie’s chair, and then the tent flap is thrown back. Marie emerges into the darkness. I attempt to rush farther around the back of the tent, to keep it between us, but I trip on one of the tent cords and fall flat on my face. In my surprise, I cry out.
I realize my mistake the moment the cry leaves my lips. I spring to my feet, turning as Marie rounds the side of the tent. She wears a distracted frown, which grows deeper upon seeing me. “Teado?”
I backpedal. Instinct sends me toward my borrowed tent, as if it is a safe place, but I know that I must run—that I must get out of this place and make it back to Commander Giado. They must be warned.
“Teado, are you all right, I…” I can see the moment Marie realizes that I have overheard her conversation with Paco. Her face drains of expression, then her lips are drawn tight. She snatches for her submachine gun, but it is no longer at her hip. In seconds I can see her Changing.
The temptation to Change is strong, almost overwhelming. I want to grapple with her, tear out her throat for this treachery, then do the same to Paco. She begins to move, Changing in midstride, leathery skin and talons ripping through her jacket as she drops to all fours and leaps toward me.
She hits the same tent cord I did, her attack faltering over itself as she stumbles and pulls most of the command tent down with her. I take the opportunity to turn and run.
I am no more graceful in the darkness. I catch the corner of a pallet of supplies with my shoulder, sending myself and dozens of black, hatbox-sized crates scattering to the ground. The sound is impossibly loud in my ears. Between that and Paco’s confused shouting as he tries to escape his collapsed tent, I am sure the camp will be fully awake within moments.
My hands scramble for some sort of purchase, and I grip something I know well. It is the handle of a grenade, fallen from the supply crates I have knocked over. I squeeze it tight and regain my feet, my head wrapping around some kind of plan. I am past my borrowed tent and almost to the rows of motorbikes by the time a proper alarm is sounded.
I shove a mechanic out of my way and snatch the best-looking bike of the group, praying it has a full tank of gas. It coughs to life after two kicks, and I rev the engine, spinning the back tire and spraying gravel as I turn around and point toward the camp.
Soldiers emerge sleepily from their tents, confused. Some of them clutch carbines or rifles, but none of them seems to know where to point. The only clear danger is Marie, who has untangled herself from the command tent and is now running toward me, fully Changed.
I pull the pin on the grenade and twist the throttle.
She is quick. I nearly lose control, dipping to one side as her snatching talons rake across my shoulder. I feel the sting of cold on an open wound, and then I am past her, practically flying for the slope that will lead me out of camp. I toss the grenade over my shoulder.
I lean on the throttle as hard as I can and focus, forcing my face to Change. I do not need a scaly, armored body or vicious claws. I only need better night vision, enough to keep me from killing myself as I power up the slope leading from the valley. I am at the crest within moments, and I am somewhat surprised to not hear the bark of gunfire behind me. There are only shouts and searchlights, and I hope that I have caught them unawares enough to make good my escape.
There is a terrible noise, blood rushing to my head and chest, and I am suddenly tumbling head over heels, landing on my back with my vision full of stars as I try to gasp for breath.
I Change almost by instinct, and not a moment too soon. At first I think that Marie has caught me, a flash of talons streaking toward my head. I twist on the ground, turning a shoulder beneath the strike, my own claws ripping upward and shredding a leathery stomach.
I recognize Javiero’s Changed form and redouble my efforts, scrambling to my feet. I have only grazed him, but it was enough to drive him on the defensive. I attack quickly, using my superior size to bear down on him, jaws snapping. We skid on the shifting rocks of the mountain trail, exchanging blows, until I am able to slap an open palm against the side of his head. He reels backward, stunned, and I know that I do not have the time to finish him off.
I am half Changed back to human by the time I reach the motorbike. It restarts with a kick, emitting one painful squeal before obeying my turn of the throttle. I careen down the hill blindly, unable to know how closely I am being chased because the valley behind me is still hidden by their Smiling Tom.
I ride with complete disregard for my own life. The trails are narrow and treacherous, and only superhuman luck keeps me from crashing into a boulder or soaring off an embankment into a rocky gorge. I am forced to slow as I round corners and work my way down scree slopes, and at every moment I expect to see the headlights of motorbikes coming up behind me, to feel the dull slap of bullets spinning me off my own motorbike.
I descend from the foothills and make it out on the plain, and it is not until then that I am able to see my pursuers. A line of lights fill the foothills behind me, and I can hear the growl of engines.