Another surge of psychos was moving in, shielding themselves with the bodies of their fallen comrades. Hank peered through his optic, trying to line up a shot. An Afflicted’s head bounced in and out of view, and Hank feathered the trigger. He was about to fire when Kacen shouted, “IED! Get down!”
Before his mind could assign weight to the words, Hank felt himself being dragged to the floor.
He was face-to-face with Eugene, who shouted, “Open your mouth and plug your ears!”
Hank started to ask why, and then an explosion shook the air, forcing his breath from his lungs and shaking his cranium. He was clenching his teeth, and the overpressure stabbed into his eardrums and squeezed his sinuses like a vice.
After the initial shock, sandy particles and pebbles rained down on him. He could hardly breathe.
“What…happened?” he said.
Eugene’s mouth moved, but Hank couldn’t hear the response.
“What?”
Eugene leaned in close. “It was a suicide vest. Probably a couple of bricks of C4 on a mechanical detonator.” He seemed like he was shouting from the far end of a tunnel. “Are you hurt?”
Hank pointed at his ears. “I think I popped my eardrums, and my head is killing me.”
Eugene rose to a kneeling position behind the sandbags. “Charlies Two and Three are down, but it looks like we’re clear for the moment. Kacen, Yuri, Nicole—you okay?”
“I’m solid,” Kacen said, giving a thumbs-up.
“Good to go,” Nicole added.
Yuri looked at his teammates and frowned. “No injuries here. But we probably all have mild concussions.”
“We’ll worry about that later,” Eugene said. “Nicole, what’s the status on our remote weapons systems?”
“Two more miniguns are down. And at least half of the laser grid isn’t responding.”
Hank worked his jaw and rested his forehead in the palm of his hand. His thoughts felt jumbled and chaotic—beyond his reach like a spilled bag of marbles. He couldn’t remember exactly where he was or what he had been doing, though he knew it had been important. There was a noise like a cork popping, and suddenly he could hear again. He blinked twice and examined himself, brushing dust off his sleeves.
“Hank, give me a hand with these ammo cans.”
It was the voice of someone important. San, maybe? Hank shook his head. No, it was Mr. Carver. Eugene Carver. But why did he need ammo cans? Were they at the shooting range?
“I’ll set up an additional M2 near the door,” a man with a raspy voice said. Hank thought the man sounded like a snake. But then the word “seal” popped into his head. That wasn’t what seals sounded like, was it? No, they sounded more like dogs.
Then a woman spoke. “It’s quiet out there. We should get a drone in the air.”
“Do it,” Eugene said.
Hank used the sandbags to support himself and shakily rose to his feet. He looked at his watch, and his lips twisted into an uneven frown. He glanced at Eugene and said, “What time does the movie start?”
Everyone else in the room fell silent for a moment, and then Eugene said, “Yuri, could you take a look at Hank?”
“On it.”
Hank craned his neck to better hear another sound. It was a woman crying out in pain.
“Felicity,” he mumbled, swinging his leg over the stack of sandbags.
“Hank, stay where you are,” Yuri said.
“Felicity,” Hank said, a little louder. His legs wobbled beneath him, but he managed to take several steps toward the door. “Felicity.”
“Hank, get your ass back here.” Eugene’s voice.
“She’s hurt,” Hank said. “I have to help her.”
His shoulder twinged—someone was pulling his arm, trying to hold him back.
“I have to help her!” Hank shouted, pulling his arm free. He shambled forward, nearly tripping over a mangled corpse. “Felicity!”
When he crossed the threshold, he saw the woman. He couldn’t be sure if she was Felicity or not—her hair was blood-soaked, matted to her face. She was on her knees, reaching out to him and shouting. “Help! Help me, please!”
Yuri was grabbing him again, trying to haul him back. Hank grunted and threw a punch that connected with his chin. Then he whirled and ran toward the woman.
“It’s okay,” he said, dropping to one knee and brushing the hair away from her eyes. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
The woman—who was not Felicity—looked at him and smiled. She lashed out, and something sharp pierced the skin on his shoulder.
Instinctively, he grabbed the woman’s wrist and stared wide-eyed at the syringe. It contained a dark substance. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew he didn’t want it in his body. Shifting his hips, he tried to wrestle the syringe free, but the woman was surprisingly strong. She thumbed the plunger, slowly injecting the substance.
“No!” Hank groaned. He pushed against the woman’s face with one hand. “Stop it! Get away from me!”
Nearly half the substance was inside him when the woman’s head exploded, splitting in half and covering his face with blood and brain matter.
Hank fell flat on his back, his eyes still fixed on the syringe. He slid it out and held it up.
Then Eugene was standing over him, wearing a pained expression.
“She…she put this inside me,” Hank said.
Eugene plucked the syringe from his fingers and tossed it aside. He raised the butt of his rifle and said, “I’m really sorry about this, Hank,” then he brought the weapon down, and the world went dark.
11
December 23rd
Ashley Forest, South Carolina
A blackberry vine caught against Kayla’s trousers; a jagged thorn pierced the denim and cut into her skin.
Cursing under her breath, she pivoted away from the vine and stepped over it. “Eric!” she called out, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Eric!”
The forest was dark in the pre-dawn twilight, and the temperature seemed to be dropping by the minute. She wanted to give Eric space and time to mourn, but he hadn’t grabbed a coat when he left the house the night before, and she was starting to worry. Taking a deep breath, she called his name at the top of her lungs. “Eric!”
She turned her head to listen for a response, or a rustle of branches, or anything. But the forest was as silent as a tomb. Kayla’s shoulder’s slumped, and she was about to trudge deeper into the forest when the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
A calm voice, barely above a whisper, came from somewhere to her right. “He’s angry. He told me to leave him alone, and he told me not to tell you where he is.”
Kayla faced the shadow in the woods. “I’m worried about him, Jarrod. I don’t want him to freeze to death. And he needs to know he isn’t alone.”
Jarrod nodded. “I have been monitoring him from a distance. He is severely distressed, but his vital signs are strong. I haven’t noticed any symptoms of hypothermia or—”
She cut him off. “I respect his need for privacy, but this has gone on long enough. It’s time for him to come in. Tell me where he is.”