Chapter Seventeen #2
I checked my magazine, swapped it clean, then looked at my husband. Dirt streaked his face; blood traced along his cheek and blotted his hairline. Not enough to worry, but enough to know we’d be hitting a med kit later.
“They’re about to push center,” Naomi said, her voice weaker than just a few minutes before.
“Let me call for a medic,” I said.
“No.”
“Just to check you out.”
“No,” she answered, firm.
“You stubborn bitch, you’re no good to anyone unconscious!” I snapped back.
“We’re about to wrap this up,” Naomi said, one eye closed as she sighted in. “You can call for them when it’s over.”
“What do you mean wrap it up?” I asked.
“Live fire training session is almost over. We’ve been fighting with our dominant hand behind our back and they’ve overextended themselves. The General is about to open it up and it’ll be over in minutes.”
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Thomas asked, shooting a disgusted look over his shoulder. “He’s been holding back?”
“They came in strong,” she said, firing once. “They’re burning through ammo and bodies. The breach cost us, but they overcommitted. If he opens up, it turns.”
“Then what the hell is he waiting for?!” I asked.
Naomi scoffed, then rose just enough to squeeze off a round, hitting someone who looked like he might be in charge—or was.
The response came back heavy and nearly immediate, striking the tank base hard enough to send a crack racing across the concrete above us.
In the next moment, the fracture spread.
Dust sifted down first, then grit, then something sharper.
“That’s,” I sniffed, “that’s not water it’s…”
“Fuck,” Thomas said. “Move! Move!”
He grabbed Naomi, slung her over his shoulder, and we sprinted for just a few seconds amid a barrage of bullets.
The other militiamen hunkered down with us, scattered like shrapnel across the position.
We moved the second it crossed from damage to failure, but it wasn’t fast enough. The fuel sparked, and we dove.
The impact hit, a shock through the ground, dust exploding outward, fragments cutting through the air. We went down with it, momentum carrying us into the dirt. Something struck Naomi on the way down, and she cried out in pain.
I rolled onto one knee, coughing as I searched the dust for movement. The blast had turned the quad into a haze of pale, indistinct shapes.
“Commit everything! End it!” Marcel said on the other side of the smoke.
“That’s what we were waiting for,” Naomi said with a weak smile. Clean lines streaked out from her eyes where she’d held them shut during the blast, the rest of her face covered in sand and dust. “Training just turned full scale. Those Italian wannabes are toast.”
I glanced around at the militia charging the breach, executing everything that moved. Screams of terror could be heard from the bottle neck, but I doubted any were from our side.
“How bad is it?” she asked, glancing down.
My brows furrowed as I pressed my palm against her wound. “Pretty bad.”
“Is it squirting or gushing?” she asked.
“Neither, but it’s flowing pretty good.”
She grinned. “I’ll live.”
“Shit! Shit!” Zeke said, running in and falling to his knees beside her. “Baby? Talk to me. Naomi?”
“I’m fine,” she said, wincing as I pressed.
As Zeke looked to me, I tried not to show fear. “She’s lost a lot of blood, but she’s coherent and responsive, both good signs.”
“Damn it, Nomes, how many times were you hit?” he cried, checking her wounds. “Medic! Medic!” He looked back down at her, then back to me. “What the fuck happened?”
“It was a frag,” she said, weaker by the second.
I noticed then that Thomas was gone, joining the rest of the men to eradicate any Carlisi still standing. The field opened just enough to see how far they’d pushed back.
Then, I felt something rumble from deep underground. At first, I panicked, worried the bunker had somehow been breached, but the vibration rolling through the ground was coming from the wrong direction. Marcel was releasing a giant from somewhere below.
I looked to Zeke and could see he wasn’t at all surprised.
“What is that?” I asked, pressing my palms flat to the ground. “Is that vibration coming from the bunker?!”
“It’s the Kraken,” he answered, frantically waving a medic in.
“The what?”
“The Kraken,” he repeated. “The General’s daughter is bleeding. He’s going to end this. Keep your head down and don’t move.”
I scanned the area, settling on a transport storage building roughly seventy yards away. Marcel, Brooks, and a few of their officers stood in the doorway, directing men toward something buried near the motor pool. Reinforced doors opened and platforms rose.
Marcel had been holding back. Not something as simple as a diversion or a flanking maneuver, but with something far worse waiting beneath the surface.
Three large trucks barreled from the building, not on wheels but caterpillar tracks, militiamen manning a large weapon in the bed of each.
Once they reached position, the sound that followed didn’t come from a single point but from all three, each one staggered just enough to overlap.
The first round struck the breach hard, tearing through vehicles and barriers the Carlisis had been using to hold ground.
A second followed from the opposite side, cutting across bodies.
The pattern held, controlled and sustained, leaving no space for them to recover.
Men who had been advancing a second earlier dropped where they stood, others pulled back behind what remained of their protection, only to have it stripped away as rounds chewed through it—and them.
The space they had taken collapsed inward, their push undone in seconds.
Marcel’s men held where they were, letting the pressure do its work until the Carlisis had nowhere left to go. Then, they advanced.
A medic fell to his knees with his bag next to Naomi, tearing through his gear for something to stop the bleeding.
“Get down!” I said, aiming my rifle. I leaned past the medic and squeezed the trigger, dropping a man trying to fight his way clear of the Kraken and militia crossfire.