Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
The ship cast a shadow across three streets.
Gabriel squinted up at it as he peered out from the Metro substation.
It was massive. So big it was a lot like the time his fifth-grade class went to the Natural History Museum, and he saw a replica blue whale suspended from wires hanging from the ceiling.
He could vividly remember standing directly under one of its fins, mouth open, as he tried to process how something that big could exist.
Spaceships were bigger.
He leaned back against the wall and tried to find some kind of identifying mark, something different from the other hundreds of times he’d stared up at it—not unlike that tween with braces on his teeth in the shadow of a fiberglass fin.
Except this time, he had a gun. He wished that made him feel better.
Flying saucers were a Hollywood creation, apparently.
Because this thing was a giant, black sphere.
There were no shuttle doors or tractor beams. There wasn’t even a windshield.
He couldn’t find the seam from the long guns, either.
The last time he’d seen them was when they threatened to shoot Victoria down when she came screaming in her F-35.
Why?
That was what bothered him more than anything.
Knowledge is power, Irving said. Unfortunately, knowledge was the one thing they didn’t have.
He’d faced factions he didn’t understand before.
But they were still inherently human. Their strengths, weaknesses, hell, even their motivations weren’t a mystery.
But these aliens? They punched through the atmosphere, picked off precise military targets, and then nothing.
From every tactical standpoint, it didn’t make sense. Why deploy ground troops when you had control of the air? When you could simply erase entire cities without risking a single soldier?
Presumably, the Monkey Cat’s guns were disabled by the EMPs—something they’d planned for with their biological clone army. But they hadn’t hesitated to use Zappy Balls on the city. So why didn’t the Off Formers?
Something else had to be at play. Gabriel knew Irving was working on it.
Taking every scrap of information, spending hours talking to Gabriel, trying to ‘get his perspective’ as Irving put it.
Gabriel chose to think he meant as a soldier and not as someone of a lower IQ, but Irving never specified, and he didn’t ask.
His theory stayed the same: The Off Formers were trying to mitigate damage.
Gabriel looked around the street. It was littered with metal, pieces of rebar, aluminum sheets, and metal light poles.
Cars had been shoved to the side, tires lining up the side of the streets as an emergency safe zone.
But no matter how much damage the humans did to make this street a trap, it was nothing compared to what the aliens did.
If he looked closely enough, he could see dry blood flaking between the cracks in the asphalt.
Buildings ripped apart, crumbling in on themselves.
Cars were cut in half. Bodies lingered in the peripheral, respectfully set aside or covered in ripped sheets, clothes, or even plywood.
There was no part of the city that was untouched.
It didn’t seem possible that this was the Off Formers showing restraint.
But how else could he explain the Off Formers immediately destroying military targets and leaving the civilian cities to be invaded?
If Gabriel was being chased by an equal, if not superior force, and he had to hunker down in a place with hostile locals, that’s what he’d do. Eliminate one threat to avoid fighting a war on two fronts.
He scrubbed his face and glanced up at the sky, judging shadows. It had been about an hour. Any minute now, the Ground Team would start lighting the city up. His attention slid a half mile down the street. He could just barely make out the Queen’s building.
Biting down on his cheek, he tried to push back the urge to go to Blake. To make sure he was safe. To pluck the syringes from his hand and shout let me do it. Let me take the pain.
But that was Gabriel thinking. Now he needed to be Commander Lennox. And Commander Lennox wouldn’t waste an asset. He would let his people do what they needed to do, what the mission needed. He would let Phin make the decisions to keep them safe. He would trust.
Gabriel hated that guy.
Turning on his heel, he descended the concrete steps into the dark of the station, trying not to wince as his ribs screamed. He didn’t think anything was broken, but he was getting too damn old to be thrown around like that.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, and he didn’t bother to turn on the flashlight weighing down his pocket. They only had so many analog ones, and he didn’t want to waste it when Tommy and Judd might need it.
He followed the stairs by feel, hand running along the railing and counting steps.
The substation they were using was off a smaller transit stop.
It didn’t have much except an open waiting area, a few benches, and the signage for the drop-off where the tracks ran ten feet down.
Gabriel hopped down, landing with a foot on either side of the tracks.
From there, he followed the quiet cursing.
Judd and Tommy were hunched over the third rail. Gabriel couldn’t see much of what they were doing, but they were doing it frantically. Neither one of them looked up at him as he approached.
Tommy had a flashlight in his mouth, and his brows furrowed. Somehow, he’d gotten dirt smudged across his face. It made him look younger.
“How are we doing?”
Tommy reached out for the piece of electrical tape Judd bit off with his teeth, wrapping it around a splice.
“We got the diesel generator running. It’s grounded.
Got clean output.” His words were muffled by the flashlight.
“We feed that into the DC bus here—skip the fried converter—and push raw juice into the third rail, and then up into the street.”
“You make it sound so clean.”
Judd huffed. “We’re weaponizing public transportation. That’s never clean.”
They finished up what they were doing, and Tommy reached for their switch—two copper strips bolted to an old mop handle.
Tommy held it in his hands, looking down at it.
It seemed fitting for what they were trying to do.
A jumble of parts built on the idea that trying, even if it ended in death, was better than not. That survival would never be enough.
Judd was looking at it, too. “Commander, this thing’s not built for a controlled discharge. Once we flip it, we’re live. No takebacks. No pauses. If anyone is on that street—human or alien—they’re not coming home.”
Gabriel knew that. He clenched his fists, gloves creaking. “Understood.”
Above them, the city began to shake. Carefully laid explosions rocked across the city.
Dust and chunks of ceiling rained down on them.
Judd launched over Tommy and their work, protecting them.
Gabriel steadied himself on the wall as he heard the distinct pops of grenades.
He knew they would be followed by the smashing glass of a Molotov cocktail exploding into flames.
Ground Team had begun.
Gabriel’s chest tightened.
He stalked toward the entrance of the station. The timing had to be right. “On my signal, throw the switch.”
Tommy’s face was white, the mop handle shaking in his hands. Judd punched him in the shoulder. “You good?”
The kid exhaled shakily. “Either it’ll work, and I’ll have helped liberate the capital of the United States of America. Or I’ll be deep fried, and it won’t be my problem anymore.”
Judd chuckled. “Now that’s hero thinking.”
The Queen’s screech was so loud Blake clapped his hands over his ears, dropping to his knee.
It didn’t help. It was like she was inside his brain.
He couldn’t see. Spots danced in his vision, and his stomach roiled.
The gun clattered from his hand as he dug his nails into his head, desperate for some relief.
With his teeth bared, Phin raised his gun. Blood trickled from his ears as he aimed. His shot was wide, but he corrected, bullets pinging off Queen Dolly’s crest and her goggles. She hissed. Rearing back, front claws striking the air.
With the screaming stopped, Blake could finally catch his breath. He felt hot blood trickling down his neck, but he didn’t stop. Not when Phin was reloading, taking aim at the Queen again. He stepped out of the doorway, peppering shots against her face and legs.
She backed up as far as the filaments would allow, stretched so tight her cream-colored skin was tenting. Her great tail struck the roof so hard it rumbled under Blake’s feet, and she opened her jaw to scream again, but Phin aimed for it, a bullet cracking one of her bifurcated teeth.
Blake stared at the massive Monkey Cat Queen.
The plan had been for Phin to distract her while Blake injected her tail, far away from the lethal parts.
But they hadn’t accounted for the filaments.
What if her body metabolized the drug before it hit any major organs?
Or if she could filter it out before it became lethal?
He didn’t know what to do. His ears were ringing. Blood dripped into the collar of his shirt, and his hands were shaking. This wasn’t the plan. Blake didn’t think he could—he couldn’t think!
Phin was still firing, keeping Queen Dolly on the ropes. Blake looked over at him, only to see a Monkey Cat grunt crawling over the junk wall. It teetered on an old refrigerator, tail swishing and teeth bared.
“Phin!” Blake screamed, but he couldn’t hear him over his gun.
The Monkey Cat’s haunches bunched as it prepared to leap. The fridge slipped down the wall, catching on something. It knocked the Monkey Cat off balance.
Blake cast around for his gun. He found it by the open door. Leaping for it, his hands closed around the textured grip.