Atlas, Part 1 (A Four Horsemen Companion Duet)

Chapter 1

Atlas Brandt was ten thousand feet in the air when his life changed irrevocably.

He frowned at the comms coming through the radio in the F-15E Eagle tactical fighter, crackling and breaking up. Was that screaming? What the hell was going on down there? They were on a routine training mission, and everything was going smoothly. They weren’t due back for at least another hour. Whatever it was, couldn’t they get someone else to do it, or wait?

“Air control, say again,” Atlas said, looking out, even knowing all he was going to see were clouds. The scenery didn’t change much up here. And there was nothing on his radar. “You’re breaking up. Repeat.” Their communications systems were a joke sometimes, but this was ridiculous. They were flying an almost thirty-million-dollar aircraft for fuck’s sake.

Bits and pieces of the mess came through but nothing he could make sense of. A strange sense of foreboding ran up Atlas’s spine —he had sudden flashbacks to his first deployment—but nothing intelligible. He tried to clear up the signal, without any luck.

“Wait,” Major Leon Holden, his weapons systems officer, said, leaning forward. “Did he say Demon ?”

How had he gotten anything out of that mess? “Demon, really?” Atlas asked sardonically.

“That’s what I heard,” Leon muttered.

Atlas shook his head. Right. He had to have imagined it. “You need to stop having so many late nights, man.” He turned, carefully circling them back around and keeping an eye out for anything in the air. “We should head back,” he said reluctantly. He hated to cut a flight short, but it was better to be safe than sorry, and he had no plans to eject today.

“Air control, this is Major Brandt,” he tried again. “What’s going on down there?”

That got him more garbled messages that could have been in another language for all Atlas understood them. Fucking hell. He needed to land. He eased them down through the clouds, going lower than he probably should have this far off base.

Atlas’s hands jerked in surprise on the controls when a nearby building exploded, flame and debris bursting outward. They were too high to see the specifics, but Atlas knew they were flying over residential areas.

“ Christ , did you see that?” Leon cried out.

Atlas swallowed and licked his lips. Were they being attacked? By who ?

Whatever it was, it was spreading across the entire city. On their way back to base, they saw dozens more buildings on fire, the flames reaching high and licking at the sky, giving it an ominous red hue. Even on his worst battle flights, he’d never seen anything like it. Horror climbed up his throat, and he stamped down the panic. There was no use for it, not until he had more of an idea of what was happening.

“Air control, we’re coming in at high speed,” Atlas said, trying to reach someone again. “Can you confirm we’re cleared to land?” He’d never landed his bird this quickly before, and he wanted to avoid making it his last flight.

Still nothing. What the fuck was going on?

He exchanged a look with Leon, who nodded stiffly, and then Atlas went through the motions of bringing them down, remembering almost too late to flick the landing gears. The last thing he wanted was to fuck up and be forced to do a gear-up landing.

By the time they landed on the tarmac close to the hangar, the entire base had erupted in pandemonium. There were people everywhere, some running, some staring like they couldn’t remember what day it was. An aircraft took off nearby, and Atlas frowned. Where the fuck were they going?

He yanked off his helmet and unhooked himself. He scrambled out of the cockpit the second there was enough space as the canopy lifted, and then he slid down the nose instead of bothering to extend the ladder. He hit the ground hard, pain lancing up his knees, and then sprinted toward the hangar, shaking it off.

He headed right for the first familiar face: First Lieutenant Landry Wheeler, whose six-foot-six height and bright-red hair were a beacon for him to follow.

“Brandt, fuck, am I glad to see you, man.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Atlas asked immediately, grabbing Wheeler’s elbow and pulling him away from the frenzied crowd. Was someone coordinating them, or were they all just running around like headless chickens? Some of them seemed like they had a purpose, and two more fighters went into the air. Atlas almost regretted landing.

Almost . He needed to figure out what the fuck was going on and make sure Matty was somewhere safe.

“There are Demons attacking the city.”

Atlas barked out a surprised laugh. “C’mon, LT, that’s not funny. What’s actually happening? There are buildings as far as we could see getting decimated. Who’s behind the attack?” Was it the start of another world war?

“They’re…” Landry shrugged helplessly, eyes wide with unshed tears. Atlas’s heart skipped a beat at the unusual display. “I saw one. It was monstrous, all teeth and red —” He cut off, and Atlas wondered if he was delirious. Would he have to slap him? He’d never slapped a person in his entire life. He would be willing to try it out at least once.

But Landry continued before Atlas could give it a go. “I ripped their throat out, and—” He broke off, lips trembling, face losing what little color it had. Was he going to be sick?

Atlas gripped his shoulders, fingers sinking deep. The LT looked about two seconds away from hyperventilating. “Take a breath. Deep one. In. Out. In. Just like that.”

Heaviness sat in Atlas’s gut as reality sank in. Wheeler wasn’t kidding.

He wasn’t kidding.

Did he really mean Demons ? Like horns and shit? Fuck off. Was it a euphemism for something, like a drug street name, but worse? He hadn’t suddenly entered some parallel universe where actual, real-live monsters existed. At least he was sure he wasn’t on drugs since they’d never let him fly if that were the case.

“What is going on?” he said slowly.

Wait. Leon had said he’d heard the word Demon over the radio. No. No fucking way. Atlas ran a hand through his short black hair. There had to be a better explanation. One that made sense .

Landry nodded, taking a shaky breath. “They got who they could inside and away from the larger hoards. They’ve secured the front gates, but it isn’t going to last long. And what they’re doing out there—it’s—”

Atlas took a hesitant step back as Landry turned a bit green. He wasn’t interested in getting vomit on his G-suit. “It’s what?” he demanded. Did he want to know? Whatever had put that look in the LT’s eyes had to be bad.

“They’re killing everyone , ripping them apart and savaging them like animals. And some of them are—”

“Some of them are what?” Atlas asked impatiently, when it didn’t look like Landry was going to finish his sentence.

“Some of them are—they’re eating them and—just look.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and opened it, turning so that Atlas could see the screen.

Atlas recoiled, face twisting into a grimace. It could almost have passed for human except for the horns sticking out of its neck, twisting like branches on a tree. And the large fangs hanging out of its mouth like a walrus, with blood spraying outward, like it had just ripped into something. Which, judging from the human in its clawed grip, was an accurate assumption. Its knees were also twisted backward, like some kind of fucked-up grasshopper.

“You expect me to believe that this is what’s out there attacking people?” All of this had to be a joke. Someone’s idea of Photoshop gone horribly wrong.

“Not just that,” Landry insisted, leaning closer like proximity would make Atlas believe him. “There are other things , and some of them are bigger, and just…”

Christ.

This wasn’t happening. “Landry.” The LT was mumbling to himself now, looking at his feet. “ Landry . Where is Matty?” He’d said that they hadn’t gotten on base. That meant that Matty was fine. He was here, somewhere. Atlas would feel a hell of a lot better once he could actually see that for himself, though.

“They’re eating them, Brandt,” the LT said in whispered horror. “What are they?”

Right now, Atlas didn’t give a single fuck about what they were. Everyone was throwing around the word Demons, but specificity wasn’t his main concern. “L, L, focus. Fucking focus, Lieutenant!” He should have found someone else to get answers from. Landry had always been a little too timid for Atlas’s taste, and he was better in small doses.

Landry let out a shaky exhale. “Yes, sir.”

“Have you seen Matt?” Atlas asked again. If he had to ask a third time, he was going to start throwing shit. It might have been faster if he’d just starting fucking searching himself. No might about it. It would have been faster.

“No. Oh, wait.” Landry hesitated, something flickering in his eyes that Atlas didn’t like the look of. Landry bit his lip. “Yes?”

Atlas barely resisted the urge to turn him upside down and shake him like an almost-empty ketchup bottle. “Where is he?” he asked urgently. It was like interrogating a toddler. After eating a handful of sugar. And a whole bottle of soda.

“He was pulled into logistics along with a few other guys that were loitering, asking for answers. As far as I know, we’re still trying to pinpoint where the monsters came from and what’s actually going on. You know, what they are, how to kill them, those kinds of things. Right now, they’re sending groups out to secure areas and search for anyone in need. They’re using the base as a safe zone and bringing everyone back here since we have the space and resources.”

No. Atlas’s heart skipped a terrified beat. No . “Please tell me they didn’t send him out there.”

“He volunteered.”

Atlas thought he might be sick. He closed his eyes briefly, hand on his hip. Matty, what the fuck were you thinking? He already knew the answer to that. Matty would have cut out his heart and given it to someone if they asked politely. He couldn’t be trusted to do what was best for him in any circumstance. “Why didn’t anyone stop him?”

“W-why would they?” Landry asked, frowning. “He’s an airman, just like we are?” Atlas could think of a million reasons why. Fuck, if he’d been here, he could have stopped him.

“He’s a cook ,” Atlas burst out. From the moment he’d met Matthew Hendrick, he’d been acutely aware how ill-fitted the military was for him. Atlas had done everything he could to keep him safe, to protect him from the harsh reality of the world. In the end, it had been Matty that had shown him there was still some light left in the world even if Atlas could only see it through the looking glass.

Now he was out there, with God-knew-what kind of horrific creatures, and Atlas wasn’t there to protect him. He had to get to him. But first he needed to figure out where they sent him.

Leaving Landry standing in the hall, he shoved through the crowds of uniforms to get to the main building on base, where intelligence and logistics were housed.

There were too few people in the building, and none of them were Matty.

He searched frantically for a familiar face, tearing down hallways and flinging himself into rooms without waiting for permission. “Frank!” Thank fuck for that. Lieutenant Colonel Frank Barron was more level-headed than Landry could ever hope to be. The older man had a thick mustache that would make a grown man cry, gray brushing at his temples, and a body like a bodybuilder. More importantly, he was intelligent, gruff, and got to the point without the need for posturing.

Frank waved him over and immediately pointed to a spot on the large city map spread over the round table in the center of the room. “Hendrick has been sent here,” he said, already knowing what Atlas was going to ask. Exactly why Atlas liked him so damn much. No fucking around with social niceties. It’s why they worked so well together and why Atlas called him friend. “Their orders are to search the schools in the area and then everything around them for a three-block radius. Places of business, residential areas, and anywhere that people could potentially use as hiding spaces.”

Schools. No wonder Matty had volunteered. It was like dangling a carrot in front of a horse. “How long ago?”

“You only just missed them. I’d say twenty, thirty minutes ago. If you take a bike, you could catch him. Lucky for you, I have one right out front, ready to go. Here.” He fished something out of his pocket and threw it to Atlas, who caught it automatically with one hand.

Keys. “Thanks.” Thirty minutes. That wasn’t long enough for Matty to get into too much trouble, right? It would take them almost that long just to get there.

“Atlas.”

Atlas paused at the door, half turning back. “What?”

“He went with August.”

Fuck . Second Lieutenant August Cobb was one of Matty’s closest friends and the most impulsive idiot Atlas had the misfortune of knowing. The number of harebrained schemes he got the two of them into couldn’t fit into an Olympic-size pool. If he got Matty hurt, Atlas would be out for his blood. Atlas would make the broken nose he’d given him a few years ago look like a light bruise.

Atlas nodded briefly and slipped out of the room before anyone could flag him down and give him other orders. He would have ignored them, of course, but he didn’t have time to listen to them. Nothing on Earth would stop him from leaving to find Matty, insubordination or not.

The Kawasaki bike was easy to spot, right outside the front door, the shiny black gleaming under the sun. Atlas sent out another silent, “Thank you, Frank,” as he straddled the bike. At least his flight gear would somewhat protect him if he crashed. Not the plan, but important to be prepared.

The only place he stopped before leaving was the armory, only so he could get some firepower. Going out unarmed would be stupid, and Atlas prided himself on being smarter than that. The ordnance specialist coordinating everything, Technical Sergeant Leslie Stone, was someone Atlas knew well. The second she spotted him, she waved him to the front of the line. He’d always made it a point to know the right people. Not the highest ranked , but the right ones. They were way more useful when he needed something—most high-brass officers were wankers who didn’t know which way to hold their guns.

He slung a rifle over his shoulders, a holster and pistol around his waist, and strapped one combat knife to his thigh and one to his ankle. The best thing about the G-suits? Pockets. Space to shove as much ammo as he could get his hands on. If he’d been taking a car, he would have grabbed more. He’d make do with what he could.

“Be careful out there, Major,” Leslie said, tugging on his zipper. “It’s gonna be a shit fight.”

“Just how I like it,” was all Atlas said, jogging out of the building.

He straddled the bike, kicked up the stand, made sure everything was secure, and then took off, tires squealing in his haste.

Stay safe, Matty. I’m coming.

THE CITY STREETS OF Washington DC were a goddamn nightmare, like something straight out of a post-apocalyptic Hollywood film. He didn’t spot any so-called “Demons” but plenty of dead bodies, crashed cars, and buildings that were nothing but rubble. He was glad he’d taken the bike since finding a way through with a car would have been almost impossible, and he would have been forced to walk.

He easily spotted the military vehicles parked haphazardly in front of an elementary school in the general area that Frank had directed him, but there was no sign of any personnel. An uncomfortable churning set up shop in Atlas’s stomach. The fact they were still parked, with no discernible movement, and they weren’t already moving on to the next location didn’t bode well.

A grotesque red creature with a thick scaled tail and spikes running up its naked arms appeared out of nowhere in front of him, like it had slithered right up from the ground. He tried to swerve, yanking the handles to the side, but ended up skidding sideways, crashing the bike right into it and sending them both tumbling. He hissed as the gravel scraped across his uniform. It didn’t rip, but fucking hell, it stung. He’d have some bruises in the morning.

The screech that the thing let out was worse than the crash. He winced and covered his ears.

The bike slammed into a nearby Toyota Highlander and dropped like a hacky sack, pieces flying off it. Atlas winced. Guess he wasn’t riding that back to base. Frank would have to find a new one. Once upon a time, this might have been hard to explain. He doubted it would be a problem now.

Instinct was the only thing that saved him as the long tail stabbed at him. Damn, that had some reach. He rolled out of the way, and it dug into the concrete beside him. The creature was on him before he could grab his weapon, and he was forced to grapple with it. It was an ugly motherfucker, with blood-red skin, hollowed-out eyes, and pointed teeth. Scarily humanoid, just like the one in Landry’s photo, as if it might have once been like him. Had it?

He didn’t risk headbutting it, because who knew what those spikes on its face could do to him. Shame, since it was one of his favorite moves. He wiggled, keeping out of reach of those teeth as he reached down and slipped the combat knife from around his ankle—he couldn’t reach in to get the one at his thigh. He lifted his knee and jammed it… somewhere. Did it have a stomach? Atlas had no clue.

Stabbing its shoulder momentarily stunned it, at least long enough for Atlas to slash across its throat and then shove it off him. He rolled on top and viciously shoved the blade into its throat, twice for good measure, covering it in its own—surprisingly red and not some weird-ass color like yellow or something—blood. He could only hope that it died like anything else. If he had to slice off its head or something to finish it off, he was in trouble. This blade was sharp, but it would still take some time to get through bone and… the rest of it.

It went still, arms and tail flopping onto the ground, blood spreading over the asphalt. Atlas hesitantly stood, muscles tense and blade held in front of him, keeping himself ready in case it made any sudden movements.

It didn’t. Nausea rushed through Atlas, and he turned, bracing his hands on his knees as he threw up, his stomach heaving. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and took a deep breath as he stood.

“Fucking hell,” he said shakily. He cleaned the blood off his knife and slid it back into its sheath. He righted his rifle from where the strap had slipped and hung against his back and held it steady in his arms as he jogged toward the school entrance. Matty was in there somewhere, and Atlas had to find him.

Before something like that did.

He twisted to glance back at it, but it was gone. Atlas froze. What the fuck? Where did it go? A quick head swivel said it wasn’t in the vicinity anymore.

Atlas was about done with this portion of his nightmare. He braced himself, steeling his heart as he stepped inside. He couldn’t let anything he might see inside the building derail him from his task. Death didn’t discriminate, and he’d seen worse.

The only bodies he found as he sprinted through the long hallways were adults. And some airmen, the uniforms covered in blood.

Fuck, fuck, fuck .

Atlas checked every room, but they were empty. The vehicles were out front. There was no plausible reason for why they would leave on foot. The roads were impassable in some areas, but they’d obviously found a way through. If they’d run into trouble, they could have gone back the way they came.

He froze when he heard a sound. Was that—someone screaming. Gunfire.

Atlas bolted, heart in his throat as he barreled through the hallways at breakneck speed. Why the fuck did the place have to be so big? How much space did a school need?

Where the fuck am I going? Matty, where are you?

The steady burst of gunfire led Atlas straight to a classroom near the far end of the building. He shoved through the ajar door, weapon ready, and got a front-row seat to a Demon—he really couldn’t think of a better way to describe it even if he didn’t truly believe it could actually be that—shoving its entire hand through Matty’s stomach.

No. Everything went hot and cold at the same, disbelief and a roaring grief battling inside him until anger flooded him. He fired, hitting it in the side of the head. It jolted and twisted its head to look at him, bleeding red eyes staring at him. Blood covered its bare chest. Matty’s blood. Atlas’s stomach threatened to come up again.

It dropped Matty, who crumpled to the floor between the other bodies of his comrades, littering the small space. Atlas couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t swallow. No . Matty had to be okay. There had to be—he had to—he couldn’t have been too late. He couldn’t. But one look at Matty, and he knew he had been.

Dead.

Dead. Atlas roared and emptied his magazine into the creature as it advanced on him. In the chest, in the head, right into its knees. It didn’t matter where he hit, it didn’t falter. The one outside had been easier to kill. But it hadn’t looked like this. This one didn’t have a tail, and rotting flesh fell off its humanoid body as the bullets tore into it. Blood dripped from its eyes and chin, and its long claws looked harder than steel.

He threw the rifle on the ground and pulled out his pistol, emptying that as well, taking careful steps back as it advanced on him. Nothing bothered it, and it kept coming, slow and steady, with a menacing aura that caused sweat to drip down Atlas’s forehead. That made his arms tremble and his heart try to beat out of his chest.

Atlas smashed the butt of his gun into its head and shouldered its stomach before rolling away, sliding the combat knife on his thigh from its sheath as he moved. The Demon reached for him, claws outstretched and ready to slice him to pieces. Atlas jammed the blade into its thick calf, yanking down to open it up, blood spraying outward. If the thing had no blood left, then it had to die, right?

It screeched, windows shattering. The sound might have been less high-pitched than the one made by the Demon outside, but it was no less debilitating. Atlas gritted his teeth through the pain and came up swinging, uppercutting its jaw. Tiny spikes like small razors cut across his knuckles, but he’d hit hard enough that the Demon swayed on its feet. That gave Atlas enough time to surge forward and bury the knife in its throat. He pulled it out and stuck it back in, following it when it crashed to the floor. He stabbed it, over and over and over again, an inhuman cry spilling from his lips, unshed tears at the corners of his eyes as he poured all his grief and hatred into every stab.

Eventually he stopped and stumbled back into a standing position. Shaking uncontrollably, he stomped on its head with his heavy boot, bone crunching beneath him. He swiped his pistol from the floor where it had dropped, reloaded, and shot it right between the eyes, four times for good measure.

The weapons slipped from his hands as he made his way over to Matty, trembling too hard to hold onto them. He dropped to his knees beside the body, pain shooting over his knees and up his thighs from the force.

His stomach clenched when a gurgling sound came from Matty’s body, and he turned his head, eyes glazed over but open and alive . How was he still alive?

Atlas leaned over him, heartbeat ratcheting up as he frantically took his hands. “Matty? Matty, can you hear me?” He cradled Matty’s cheek, his skin slippery from blood. “Hey, show me those beautiful eyes.”

His free hand hovered over Matty’s wound, knowing there was nothing he could do and wishing with everything in him that he could reverse their positions, take the pain himself. It was a fucking miracle that Matty was still breathing, and every labored breath he took chipped away at Atlas’s soul. He could never get him to a hospital in time. If any of them were even functioning anymore. They would have had medical personnel with them, but it looked like there weren’t any survivors. So many dead, too quickly. A massacre, not a fight.

“Hey, At.” Matty’s weak voice tore at Atlas’s insides. A whisper that he thought he might be hallucinating. Just to hear it one more time. “Was wondering when”—Matty’s breath hitched on a painful gurgle, blood dripping down his chin. Atlas wiped it away with his sleeve—“when you were going to join the party.”

Atlas swallowed hard, a lump that he couldn’t push down threatening to choke him. He could hear the blood in Matty’s throat, the wetness and the crackling. His lungs were filling, and there was nothing Atlas could do about it.

“I’m always late,” he said thickly, feeling like he was the one drowning in his own blood.

“There are—in the storeroom—there’s—kids. Please, get them—”

“I’ll keep them safe,” Atlas promised. Matty had given his life to protect them, and Atlas would do the same. Matty wouldn’t leave with that worry hanging over his head.

“I’m scared,” Matty admitted.

So was he. Fucking hell, so was he. Of what was happening outside and the panic that weighed on his chest, knowing that he only had a few more minutes with this incredible man. “Hey, I got you.” Atlas smiled through his tears. “I’ve always got you.” If nothing else, he would make sure Matty wasn’t alone in his final moments. Matty was sunshine and bright unfiltered joy that lit up any room he walked into. He didn’t deserve to die like this. Or at all. Atlas was the one who waded into a fight and provoked the enemy, not him. Matty kept himself safe. He should have been safe .

“You do,” Matty rasped. He smiled one last time, and then he was gone.

Atlas closed his eyes, heat like fire behind them. Not four hours ago, he’d talked to him, made plans to get burgers and fries before catching a late movie. He couldn’t even remember what the movie was, something that Matty had been wanting to see for a little while. Atlas had teased him and given him a playful kiss before he’d suited up and gone into the air. They’d been friends since university, but they hadn’t been together long. It was something new, a little frightening. Atlas had been wary of ruining their friendship, but Matty had been insistent. He could have picked anyone, and he’d chosen Atlas, who couldn’t go a single day without threatening someone with bodily harm. Usually a commanding officer.

A familiar voice called out, “Brandt? Major Brandt?”

Atlas pressed a kiss to Matty’s bloody lips, uncaring of the mess. He moved to his forehead, leaving a red print. Anger and agony warred inside him like hot flushes that came and went, unable to settle. Atlas should have protected him, been near him, or gotten here in time. What had Matty been thinking ? He wasn’t a fighter.

Atlas already knew. He’d have wanted to help people, wouldn’t have thought for a second about his own safety.

“In here,” he called out when Landry called his name a second time. He didn’t want the noise to attract any more unwanted guests.

“Oh, fuck ,” Landry breathed out. “Atlas, I’m so sorry.”

Atlas shook his head, willing him to shut the fuck up. He couldn’t talk about it or even think about it. He crossed Matty’s hands over his chest above the gaping hole and stood shakily.

“Are you alone?” Atlas asked, without looking at Landry.

“I have four men with me. We split up to search the building.”

Atlas steeled himself, pushing everything back and locking it down tight. His feelings had no place here, not in this room that stank of death and creatures that shouldn’t exist. Not where the body of his closest friend lay motionless, never to open his eyes again.

Kids. Matty had said there were kids in the storeroom, where he’d left them.

He yanked the door open, and there, among the shelves of pens and crayons and colored paper, six pairs of small eyes stared up at him in terror.

If Atlas hadn’t come and disposed of the Demon, it would have found them next. Anger burst anew inside him. The motherfucker had deserved a longer, more painful death.

“Stay in here a little longer, okay?” he said, trying hard to pitch his voice to a calmer tone. He’d never been good at talking to children at the best of times. These kids were already terrified; he didn’t need to make it worse. “We’re going to get you somewhere safe; we just need to secure the area before we escort you out.”

They all nodded. A twinge of guilt twisted in his chest as he closed the door again. It wasn’t ideal, leaving them in the dark, unknowing whether Atlas was coming back for them. But he had something important he had to do first.

“There were bodies with our uniforms on the way in, did you see them?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re not leaving them here.” Matty wouldn’t become food for one of them, and neither would any of the service men and women that had stood beside him.

They didn’t have time to get out all of the bodies in the building, but he would make time for them. They deserved more than being left to rot here. Or worse.

As they searched, he spotted August’s mangled body, limbs tangled awkwardly around broken tables, bones broken and sticking out through his flesh. The wide-eyed look of terror in his open eyes told the story of his death. Atlas closed them for him, resting his palm on the cold forehead for a moment. He fished in his pockets and finally found a coin.

“What are you doing?”

“For the ferryman.”

“The ferryman? Like the carrying-souls thing? Do you really believe in that?”

“No,” Atlas said, standing and turning his back on the body. “But he did.”

“Atlas, about Matty—”

No. If he stopped to feel , he’d never be able to start again. “Gather the bodies and put them in the Humvee. We’ll go through the building for anybody else that might be alive, and then we’re taking them all back to base to regroup.”

Landry hesitated before nodding, jaw tightening. “Yes, sir.”

Atlas carefully wrapped a nearby jacket around Matty’s wound, making sure it was tight and secure and nothing was going to fall out during transit. He needed his hands free in case they were ambushed by any more Demons, and there wasn’t any rope nearby, so he lifted him firefighter-style over his shoulders.

He didn’t know what was going on, where these things had come from, or even how they would stop them. But saving as many lives as possible was the main priority now. It’s what Matty would have wanted, what he would have fought for. Atlas would do everything to make sure he honored his memory.

He would kill every fucking Demon on Earth with his own bare hands if he had to.