With another thought, he formed rigid loops in the metamaterial around his back, which anchored him in place. He listened for a moment, making sure the driver hadn’t noticed the subtle change in the vehicle’s weight, and then he relaxed. At last, he could give his muscles a much-needed rest.
Closing his eyes, he focused on the sounds of the passengers. Several seconds passed, and no one inside said a word. Jarrod leaned in, wondering if their voices were being drowned out by the thrum of the engine. But no—he could hear breathing and the occasional shuffle of feet as the standing passengers moved around to maintain their balance. There were at least eighty people packed into the bus, and no one was saying a word.
Interesting, he thought. If the bus had been loaded with refugees, he would have expected to hear an occasional verbal exchange as the passengers complained or broke the tension with small talk. But everyone inside was as dull and lifeless as a cardboard cutout.
A moment later, his suspicions were confirmed when the onboard radio crackled to life.
“Unit AN-14. What is your ETA?”
The driver gave his response without hesitation. “Thirty-seven minutes, eighteen seconds.”
The radio clicked twice in acknowledgment and fell silent. Jarrod bowed his head and settled in for the ride. There was no doubt in his mind—the bus was loaded with Wardens. No one other than Borya’s forces would have access to functional radios. These men were on their way to help capture Hillcrest or perhaps to fortify its defense if it had already been captured. And in precisely thirty-seven minutes, it would arrive, but the Wardens in Baltimore would find nothing but visceral horror waiting within.
26
Hillcrest Trauma and Rehabilitation Center
Baltimore, Maryland
“Move this mess out of here,” Henry Napp said, pointing at the wall of bodies. “It served its purpose, but it will only slow down our brethren once we have taken control.” He wrinkled his nose. “And it smells like shit.”
A pair of Wardens nodded at him and immediately began peeling bodies away from the wall. Napp waited until the wall was low enough for him to step over and then proceeded deeper into the corridor. He passed thirty of his best-equipped soldiers and stopped a few paces before he reached the corner. He held a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. “Mr. Carver? My name is Henry Napp, and I’d like to have a word with you.”
There was a long pause, and then the loathsome voice responded, “How’s it hanging, Napp? You here to formally surrender?”
Napp’s lips formed a puckered smile. “If I didn’t know better, I would call that bravado. But you’ve proven yourself to be unequivocally stupid thus far, and it is entirely possible that you actually believe such a delusion.” He took a deep breath. “Still, there is no need for further bloodshed. Come forward, and I promise no harm will come to—”
“Hold up,” Carver interrupted. Several moments passed, and then he spoke again. “Sorry, my balls were really itchy. Go ahead.”
Napp deepened his voice. “The Great Intellect wishes to spare you. And there is no need for the friends and family members whom you have secreted away in these halls to—”
“Sorry, just one second. I swear…these bulletproof pajamas are way too tight in all the wrong places.”
“Perish,” Napp said forcefully. “Or are you too proud to do what is right? Do you wish to watch them die?”
Carver continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “Firefights are sweaty business. I used to sprinkle baby powder down there to keep things dry, but not anymore. Have you heard about that stuff causing cancer? It might be just a rumor, but I don’t want to take the chance.”
Napp gnawed on one of his knuckles for a moment to regain his composure. “I have thirty men ready to charge your position, and should they fail, ten thousand more behind them.”
Another long pause. “Well, crap. I probably should have gone with the baby powder after all.”
A man and a woman began to chuckle, and Napp seethed with anger. But before he could open his mouth, Carver spoke again.
“In all seriousness, you’re right. The last thing I want is for innocent people to die because of my ‘pride.’ Here, as a token of my good faith.”
A round object clanked into view, coming to rest near Napp’s feet. His eyes widened at the sight of the fragmentation grenade, and he turned and dove away.
The two Wardens nearest to the grenade fell on top of it, cupping their arms to contain the blast. But the grenade had been built with an exceptionally powerful charge, and several pieces of shrapnel cut through the Wardens and embedded themselves in Napp’s thigh.
Napp writhed in pain and clutched at the wound. Within seconds, a Warden was at his side with a medical kit, sprinkling on a hemostatic agent. Napp moaned through his clenched jaw and waved the Warden aside. He took a deep breath and shouted. “You’re a fool, Carver! You’re only alive right now because I let you live. And I swear, you will beg for death before the sun sets.”
Shifting onto his elbow, Napp pointed at the orderly stack of Wardens and said. “Go!”
Kacen Brown leaned into his rifle. “He sounds pissed.”
“Of course, he’s pissed.” Eugene pointed at his teammate. “Never pass up an opportunity to trash-talk your enemy. It’s one of the few pleasures of armed conflict.”
“Contact!” Nicole barked before shooting down the first Warden to enter the hallway.
Eugene, Kacen, and Yuri joined in, selecting targets and bringing them down. But this assault was nothing like the one before—the Wardens were running at them with psychotic, suicidal ferocity. Within seconds, fifteen Wardens had poured into the narrow space, staggering with guns blazing as they were cut down.
Eugene flinched as an enemy round shattered the concrete at his feet. His rifle went dry, and he ducked behind the wall. “Reloading!” His practiced fingers ejected the spent magazine and slid a new one into place in the space of three heartbeats, and he was back in the fight.
Bringing his rifle back around the corner, he lined up his next shot without even looking down his sights. The psychos were closing in—thirty meters, then twenty-five, then twenty. He took a shot that struck a Warden in his plate armor and knocked him back, but the surge of his comrades carried him forward.
“Head shots!” Nicole shouted over the chaos. “Go for head—”
Before she finished, her submachine gun clattered onto the floor in front of Eugene. He stole a quick glance back and saw her clutching at her shoulder. Blood was pouring through her fingers. She clenched her teeth, drew her sidearm, and pivoted her hips so she could blindly fire it around the corner.
Someone else grunted in pain, and this time Eugene didn’t look. There was no time; the Wardens were within thirty feet of their position. They were staggering forward, a mutilated, fleshy mass of pure determination.
This was it. This was the end. They would overwhelm him and—
Eugene bit his lip as Napp’s words echoed in his mind. You’re only alive because I let you live. And he realized there was another option—one that would either leave him dead or give the team a fighting chance.
Thrusting back his metamaterial mask, Eugene shouted, “Kacen, on me!”