11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
Knox
The camp is coming apart in pieces.
Tent stakes are ripped out of the ground, and rope is yanked loose and then coiled. Crates are dragged across hard dirt and tossed into stacks.
"Oi, get back here and clean that up!" the quartermaster shouts as a stack tumbles over, spilling its contents across the ground. His voice is hoarse from too much yelling today.
Vehicles idle in uneven lines, exhaust hanging low in the cooling afternoon air, waiting their turn to depart.
Beyond the camp, the road to Blackgate Fortress climbs the mountain in tight turns.
I can see the first of the trucks inching their way between each switchback from here.
To our left, the Pass cuts through the mountains, open and exposed.
As far as exfiltration goes, this one isn't well executed.
I can't exactly hold that against Prime Alpha Zero.
He's not working with a trained battalion, but a ragtag group of defected soldiers and volunteer civilians.
They're survivors who made the choice to stay and help the resistance instead of becoming settlers.
They're untrained, but what they lack in experience, they make up for in respect.
Zero doesn't need to shout to get their attention.
When he speaks, his people listen. He is up near the control tent, which is half disassembled, giving orders with increasing urgency.
There is something dangerous in the air, an anticipation that is growing with each passing minute, and I can feel it in the way everyone rushes.
I have the same need to move.
It feels like there is a gaping wound in my chest, equal parts barely healed grief and stifling gratitude. If I stop, it'll overwhelm me. So, I keep my hands busy moving our gear into our truck.
The back of our vehicle is open, and Shade is inside, grunting as he packs gear tighter to make space. I over-prepared and over-packed for this trip, but in my defense, I'd been paranoid about our Omega being in danger… not that it helped in the end.
No.
No. I can't keep thinking about it. About what happened and how she looked at me right before she was shot with such open belief. She trusted that I'd save her.
I slam down a crate on the tailgate a little too hard, wincing as the ammo inside rattles.
"You all right?" Viper asks as he places a crate, which is three times the size of my own, down beside me with feather-light movements.
I grunt instead of giving a concrete answer, and seek out the reassuring sight of Halley alive and well. It's the only thing that is keeping me grounded.
The Omega is sitting in the driver's seat, the door open, and her feet swinging back and forth over the edge of the truck.
She smiles softly when she notices me looking, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. The ache in my chest eases.
Yesterday, our Halley would have protested when I insisted she let us handle the heavy lifting. Maybe not with words, but with her body. With that crease between her brows and the wrinkling of her nose she gets when she thinks I'm being unfair or taking away her autonomy.
Now, she doesn't seem fazed in the least about being sidelined. She simply watches us work with a quiet smile on her face.
I don't know what to do with that. It's like she's changed. She's still the same Halley, but there is undeniably something different about the way she carries herself, as if a weight has been lifted from her back.
Before I even realize that I've moved, I'm standing between her legs and running my hands over her thighs. I need contact. Proof that she is warm and her pulse is steady under my fingers. It should be enough, but it's not. I doubt it will be for a very long time.
"Knox." Shade’s voice comes from inside the vehicle. "We have ten minutes before they start pushing the line forward."
I hum and squint at the idling vehicles again.
Shade's right, and it's a good thing. I want us out of here as soon as possible.
I expect I'll feel better once we have our girl behind the fortress walls of Blackgate.
And far, far away from the scene of her death.
Whenever the wind changes direction, I catch hints of her blood still soaked into the dirt, and it takes me right back to that horrible event.
I track movement across the encampment. Betas and civilians haul bundles that are too heavy, their hands red from cold and rope burn. Two Alphas move past, heading toward Prime Alpha Zero, faces tight.
A sickeningly familiar feeling grows in my gut.
Something is wrong.
There is nothing amiss that I can pinpoint, but after years as a Prime, I know better than to disregard my Alpha instincts.
I sniff the air, searching for a clue to my suspicions, but there is nothing of note.
Halley watches with a curious tilt of her head, and my stomach continues to twist.
It might just be that my nerves are shattered, but what if it's not?
I vowed to Halley that, from now on, I'd do everything in my power to protect her, and if that means being a paranoid nutter, then I'll happily accept the title. I'm not taking risks from here on out.
I release a short, sharp whistle.
Like the highly trained and experienced soldiers they are, Scorch Squad falls into their combat roles instantly.
Blaze launches from the other side of the truck, vaulting over the roof and landing in a crouch in the dust in front of us. He flips his rifle off his back and raises it, ready.
I kiss Halley's forehead and lift her into my arms, her legs tightening around my waist without instruction as I swiftly carry her to the back of the vehicle, where I pass her into Shade's waiting arms. I pull the tailgate nearly closed, leaving only a narrow firing gap that Shade blocks with his body.
The barrel of Viper's sniper rifle enters my peripheral vision. He assembled it at lightning speed, his scope already scanning the surrounding forest for danger.
"What's the sitrep, Boss?" Shade asks from behind me, followed by the metallic clang of his rifle propping up on the tailgate.
I adjust my gun, butting it against my shoulder as I scan the camp.
"Dunno. Just a feeling," I answer.
And it's enough.
We've worked together for so long that we trust each other's gut instincts without hesitation.
Seconds pass, and then a full minute ticks by with no change in the camp. Passing soldiers cast startled looks at us, skittishly fumbling to check they have their own rifles close by.
Just as I consider breaking formation to get my Pack in the truck to hightail it out of here, I smell it.
Festering wounds and disease.
After years of fighting the same enemy, I know this smell.
Demi-humans heal before wounds become infected or diseases ravage the body.
Humans are close.
The first shot cracks.
It rips through the canvas of a half-collapsed tent, and from within, a woman screams.
Another burst answers from a different angle.
"Contact!" I roar.
It's too late. The element of surprise is already doing its work.
Betas who were hauling crates drop them and dive for rifles leaning against wheels or strapped to packs.
The civilians who stayed as volunteers freeze, their hands full, eyes wide, with nowhere to run because they're not trained for battle.
Someone stumbles into the gap between two vehicles, and the sound of a round hitting flesh makes my teeth grind. The body hits the ground heavily.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Another volley tears into the side of a supply stack, splintering the plastic crates into nasty projectile shards that cut skin.
My veins turn to ice, and I swallow back the fear threatening to consume me.
We only just got our Halley back. Viper back. Our Pack back. I will not, cannot lose them again.
"Defensive positions," I call to my squad. This should be as easy as breathing for us. A formation we've deployed hundreds, if not thousands of times. It's never felt like this before. I've never been more aware of how easily my loved ones could be taken from me. "Protect Halley at all costs."
I don't need to say it. I know each of my brothers will do anything in their power to never see a drop of our Omega's blood spilled ever again.
Blaze’s rifle is trained on the treeline, tracking it back and forth as he hunts for our assailants.
Viper, using the side of the truck to steady his sniper rifle, presses his cheek against the stock as his scope scans with sharp, controlled movements. He does not flinch when rounds snap overhead. He has a stillness that comes from a lifetime of practice.
Shade is behind me at the threshold of the tailgate, his body angled to block Halley from any line of fire that might sneak through the gap I left. I don't look back to check her, because if I do, I'll lose focus.
"Where?" Shade calls.
"Northeast treeline!" Blaze answers. "And to the right of the Pass. They’re close."
Prime Alpha Zero is still up near the control tent.
I see him pivot, head lifting as his enhanced hearing allows him to catch Blaze's voice over the chaos.
He squares his shoulders and relays the information to the Alphas near him.
They move fast, but rather than evacuating the scattered and terrified crowd, they fall back toward the Pass.
What the fuck is this Prime Alpha doing?
My ears are ringing from the proximity to Viper's sniper rifle. He must have a good line of sight with his scope, because he's steadily popping round after round into the treeline.
It's doing nothing to dissuade the enemy. Their gunfire is relentless with no breaks, which makes retreat an almost impossible endeavor, especially with the Alpha soldiers not joining the fight.
Two young women, civilian volunteers based on their lack of situational awareness and casual clothing, try to dart between two tents, their hands clutched tightly together.
"Covering fire!" I shout, and my Pack answers with a wave of suppressive fire.
It's for naught. A spray of bullets hits them not two steps out from their hiding place, their hands still joined as they fall.